


In the universe right next door

by redtoes



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Tommy Lives, post season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoes/pseuds/redtoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy lives! And is drawn more and more into team Arrow as a result. </p><p>AU for the last few minutes of Season One and all of Season Two</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second chances

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.
> 
> AU - Tommy lives. That rebar just wasn't there and so while he was pinned beneath concrete he wasn’t impaled and Oliver was able to rescue him with only a few broken bones and nothing life threatening

Broken collarbones hurt like hell. Never again would he underestimate the importance of a collarbone. It wasn't just there to create a hollow at the base of a woman’s neck for a pendant to hang in, or to make the shoulders of his suits look good. Collarbones were damn important and he would never undervalue the importance of an intact collarbone ever again.

Plus it hurt like a son of a bitch. 

Admittedly it could have been so much worse. When Oliver had rolled what had been part of CNRI’s concrete roof off of him a six inch length of sharp rebar that had almost pierced his chest was clearly visible.

Both men had stared at it for a second, fully aware of the implications of just how close a call it had been.

Then Tommy tried to move and realised that as scary as possible death was, actual physical pain was much worse.

Broken collarbones can't be easily moved, so Oliver had shielded him through the after shakes until the EMTs arrived and then had to slip away to protect his vigilante secret.

“Wait,” Tommy had said, “my father?”

Oliver had paused, hood up, face hidden.

“I'm sorry.”

To most people he would have sounded hard, unforgiving. But Tommy had known Oliver for almost three decades, and he could hear the pain and regret in his tone.

“It had to be done,” his best friend said, his voice gruff even without the voice modulator he used as the Hood.

“I know,” Tommy replied, and then there was an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and a friendly EMT asking questions and Oliver was nowhere to be seen.

But as the techs worked around him, taking readings and administering pain killers, he realised that he’d been given a second chance, that there were plenty of universes out there where Tommy Merlyn had died in the ruins of his father’s vengeance, as such he resolved to live better than he had before.

The first step was Laurel.

When he woke up in the hospital bed she was there. She and Oliver both. She had brick dust in her hair and Oliver’s face was bruised and scraped.

They sat on opposite sides of his bed, not looking at each other.

He supposed that might have something to do with the fact that the last time he saw both of them he had been watching them tear each other’s clothes off through a window.

He wondered if either of them realised he’d witnessed that little trip down memory lane.

And given that both of them were here and not talking, what did it mean?

He wanted to get their attention with a witty comment. Something pithy and maybe a little sarcastic. Let them know he was fine and he knew and he wasn’t just going to just lie down and let Oliver slip back in to his place in Laurel’s life.

But what actually came out of his mouth was a cough.

His dry throat closed up and he gasped for air and he coughed like the pack-a-day smoker he hadn’t been since when he was trying to impress arty chicks at college. 

Laurel was there instantly, lifting a paper cup of water to his lips, one hand curled around the back of his neck to help him hold his head up.

Oliver was also on his feet, but he stood still, his fists opening and closing at his sides. He’d gone from looking utterly despondent, head hung, arms resting forward on his knees as he sat on the hard plastic chair, to almost vibrating with tension on his feet.

Tommy wondered if it had something to do with adrenalin. Or PTSD. Oliver undoubtedly had experienced his fair share of both.

He looked back to Laurel. She looked drawn, tired, but her eyes were bright and she looked happy to see him.

“New rule,” she said softly, as he finished drinking and she lay his head back down on the pillow. “No running into collapsing buildings.” Her hand stroked over his hair and he remembered telling her he loved her and being absolutely convinced they were both about to die. 

“I make...no promises,” he said thickly. 

“Tommy,” she said and he could see the tears threatening to break through the emotional walls she used to keep control of herself.

“If you’re in...a collapsing...building,” he said, “I'm always going...to come for you.”

Laurel smiles but it’s sad. She leans in to press a kiss to his forehead and he wonders if he’s already lost her to Oliver.

Speaking of Oliver.

Tommy turned his head to see his best friend wearing an unreadable expression.

“Hey buddy,” Oliver said.

“Hey.” 

A world of words passed between them in silence - _you saved my life, you killed my father, you slept with the woman I love, you kill people, I missed you so much._

“Good...to see you,” Tommy said and reached a hand towards Oliver.

Oliver didn’t smile, didn’t frown, but Tommy knew him well enough to see the subtle shifting of muscles that meant he had relaxed a little. He took Tommy’s hand and didn’t say anything.

“So,” Tommy said, looking from one to the other of them, “are we buying...a bed big enough for three...or what?”

Laurel looked at him, shocked and a little guilty, but Oliver laughed, loud and impromptu and true in a way that none of his expressions since his return from exile had seemed to be.

And Tommy felt something in him relax too, and he knew then, that no matter what choice Laurel made, he and Oliver were going to be okay.

Eventually.

* * *

Unlike Oliver, Tommy spurned his family's company, choosing to return to Verdant as club manager and leave Merlyn Global to flounder. He instructed his lawyers to get the best possible deal for the employees but to destroy as much as was possible, to burn the buildings and salt the earth of anything that Malcolm Merlyn might have considered his legacy.

Any profit from the deal was to be funnelled into relief programmes in the Glades. Tommy was determined to live a life apart from his father and his father’s money.

He remembered the panic he felt when his trust found dried up shortly after Oliver’s return and can't quite parse it with the disgust he feels at a profit margin that funded his father’s murderous vengeance.

He wanted a fresh start. A fresh life.

And so he took on running Verdant while Oliver paced the boardroom at QC and worried about hostile take overs.

In the space of a month they had entirely swapped careers - though Tommy had no intention of picking up his best friend’s discarded bow and arrow.

Every day newspapers and news anchors asked what has become of the Hood, and Tommy can't quite decide whether he wants to see the vigilante return or not.

On one hand he doesn't want Oliver to be a killer, on the other, the streets are worse than ever and he can't deny his father’s responsible for this chaos.

And that Oliver could help.

But Oliver didn't swing by Verdant's basement and the Hood didn’t return.

He emailed Laurel, now working for the DA’s office and busier than ever. He sent flowers and left voice messages but she didn’t return his calls. 

He wondered if she took Oliver’s calls. Somehow he doubted it.

Laurel dealt with trauma by burying herself in work and isolating herself from anything that could remind her of it.

She did the same after the yacht went down, and it took him months to coax her out and see her smile; even if those first few meetings also involved tears, he made it a point of pride to encourage as many smiles as he could to go with them.

But now he's part of her trauma (though an uncharitable part of him points out that she wasn't the one hospitalised or the one who lost a parent) so she keeps her distance.

He saw Thea more than Oliver, the younger Queen having taken it upon herself to improve Verdant’s interior design alongside the structural improvements necessitated by the earthquake.

But she didn't know about Oliver’s lair in the basement and he’s certainly not told anyone, so it was quite a surprise when he arrived one morning to find contractors descending the staircase under the watchful eye of a colorfully dressed blonde.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh Tommy! I mean, Mr Merlyn,” she sputtered, “I mean, I’m Felicity, I, er, work for Oliver. I mean, Mr Queen.”

“You work for Oliver?” His voice sounded incredulous even to him.

“I do, I mean, I did.” Felicity avoided his gaze and Tommy eyed the passing workmen and the nervous blonde and put two and two together. “I work at QC but I also helped him...set up the clubs’ Internet.”

“You worked with him at his...night job, right?” He said, watching as her head shot up and bright blue eyes locked onto his. 

“Yes, his night job.”

“The one he quit?”

“He didn't quit,” she said immediately, then scrunched her nose. “Okay, he did quit, but he shouldn’t have. I didn’t quit, and I certainly didn’t appreciate his lame version of severance pay.”

“Severance pay?”

But she just carried on talking as if he hadn’t spoken, her hand gestures becoming more and more dramatic with each passing sentence.

“I don't see why he gets to make that decision, it’s more than just his life on the line. He’s not the one getting increasing desperate emails from Detective Lance, is he? No, he’s off playing CEO, while some of us are being stalked by a cop!”

She paused for breath and he leaned in, laying a hand on her arm.

“He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

“If he didn’t want me to be here he should have changed the locks,” she said, tilting her chin defiantly.

Tommy nodded, as much to himself as to her.

“Felicity?”

“Yes?”

“What can I do to help?”

* * *

John Diggle was different to how Tommy remembered him. Though perhaps it would be more accurate to say that now that Tommy was looking past the surface of the man, he could see there was a lot more to him than constant vigilance and a dry wit.

“What is he doing here?”

“What do you mean?” Felicity asked Diggle. “It's not like he doesn't know.”

“Yes,” Diggle said, “but that doesn’t mean he’s in the club.”

“There’s a club?” Tommy can't resist, “do you have membership cards? And t-shirts?”

“Yes,” Felicity said bluntly, “they say ’I risked my life and sanity for a billionaire vigilante and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’. And a million dollars.”

Tommy blinked at the bitterness in her tone.

“Hey,” he said, intending it to be comforting but somehow it just seemed to make things more tense. Felicity levelled an unimpressed look at him while Diggle snorted.

“Besides,” Felicity said, “don't we need a billionaire on the team?”

“It’s Oliver’s team,” Diggle responded with emphasis.

“Hey, I'm Team Ollie,” Tommy said, holding up his hands placatingly, “and technically I'm not a billionaire anymore.”

“Then what use are you?” Diggle asked, but his tone wan’t cruel, instead it seemed genuinely curious.

“I...” Tommy didn’t have an answer.

“I’m not saying we dress him up and send him out on the streets,” Felicity said, “but Oliver isn't taking my calls and he isn’t taking your calls, but maybe he’ll take his calls.”

“So I'm here for my access?”

“Well that and to look pretty,” Felicity said and then her eyes widened. “Er, sorry.”

“Not at all,” Tommy said, “I’ve always thought my primary purpose is to increase the attractiveness quotient of any room I’m in.” He grinned at her, then added, “Not that this one needs it,” with a good natured leer.

Felicity blushed and ducked her head and Diggle cleared his throat. When Tommy turned to look at the bodyguard the man slowly shook his head in a meaningful manner.

“Anyway,” Felicity said, apparently completely oblivious to the non too subtle warning that had just been delivered on her behalf, “I don't take it well when someone tries to pay me off.” Diggle scowled at that and Tommy wondered just who these people were that disliked receiving a million dollars in their bank accounts. “So I thought I’d put the money to good use.”

She flipped a light switch and the rest of the basement lit up, revealing metal cupboards, glass cases, strip lighting, and advanced weaponry in a far more impressive set up than the last time Tommy had seen it.

Diggle whistled through his teeth.

“Felicity.”

“I know,” she said, smugly.

“How much did you spend?”

“I kept some for shoe money,” she said, a little defensively. “And the 3D printer is mostly for me.”

“Does he know you’ve done this?” Diggle asked.

“That’s where Tommy comes in.”

“I do?”

“Yup,” Felicity grinned, “you get him here and we can do the rest.”

Tommy looked past her, taking in the fully-equipped secret underground crime fighting lair waiting for his best friend and wondered just what his life had come to that this seemed like a good thing.

“Okay,” he said.


	2. Versioning

Tommy should have known it was never going to be easy, but Felicity had a curiously optimistic attitude and he found himself swept along in her enthusiasm for the plan, such as it was.

So Tommy placed a phone call to Oliver’s cell and left a message about stock levels and purchase orders.

Oliver, unsurprisingly, did not call back.

Instead Tommy received a text instructing him to do whatever he thought best.

Tommy had to admit that even back in the day when the two of them had been officially working together at the club he could barely get Oliver to look at paperwork, so why he had thought it would be different now he has no idea.

So he tried a more social approach.

“Ollie! Hey buddy, things are on track for the big reopening next Friday. I was thinking, how about we throw a private reopening party the night before? I promise good times. Call me.”

Nothing.

“I feel like one of those girls who won’t take a hint,” Tommy complained to Felicity. “How soon is too soon to call? Does the three day rule apply here?”

He’d taken to spending his evenings in the basement. The contractors would head out on the stroke of five and Tommy would order in some delivery and wait for her to arrive. They would eat at one of the tables in the mezzanine of the club, sometimes with John Diggle in tow, generally wearing a suspicious look even as he ate the food Tommy paid for. Then she would work on the computers in the basement for a few hours or so while he wandered about opening drawers, fiddling with gadgets and occasionally cutting his finger tips on the many edged weapons lying around.

“We’ve all been there,” she said, most of her attention on the screen.

“I haven’t,” he whined. Somewhere nearby Diggle chuckled and Tommy shot the bodyguard a dark look.

“Wasn't there ever anyone you had to chase?” Felicity asked, “how did you get them?”

“Well, there was Laurel,” Tommy admitted, “but I'm not sure that technique would work here.”

Felicity spun in her chair.

“Just how did you and Laurel become a thing?” She asked curiously, one hand waving as she spoke.

“Alcohol, poor impulse control, the need to feel something other than misery after the death of the most important person in both our lives,” Tommy said counting on his fingers. “And you mustn’t forget the fact that Oliver slept with her sister and so there may have been an element of angry revenge sex going on there. On her side, obviously.”

He looked up to see her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline.

“Too much?”

“Man, I though my love life was complicated,” Diggle said as he passed. He didn’t stop but his hand came up to squeeze Tommy’s shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture. Tommy stared but Diggle was already walking away.

Tommy looked back to Felicity.

“What about you? You never had a complicated relationship?”

Felicity blushed and Tommy suddenly wondered if this was the moment when she might admit to her obvious ever present and never spoken of crush on Oliver.

“Sure,” she said, “he even cheated on me with my best friend, if you can count hand-holding as cheating, but then it's not like we did much more when we were ’going out’.” She even made the finger quotes. “It was middle-school.”

“Oh, those heady days.”

“Yeah yeah,” she said turning back to the screen. “I don't get out much, happy?”

“Very much not happy,” Tommy said, “a girl like you should be out being hit on by louts and having shoes ruined by too many spilled drinks.”

“You’re really selling this to me,” she said dryly as she typed.

“Seriously though,” he said, “you should let me take you out, show you the city.”

“I've seen the city,” she said, “lived here all my life.”

“Not like you’d see it with me.”

“Don't you have a girlfriend, Merlyn?” Diggle asked, his expression having reverted to the unimpressed face he so often wore in Tommy’s presence.

“It's not a date,” Tommy sputtered, then immediately worried if Felicity had thought that was what he had been suggesting. “Seriously not a date. Just a night out with a friend.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Felicity said, apparently unbothered by his panic and Diggle’s worry. “Not my scene.”

“C’mon,” he said, but even as he pursued it he didn't know why he did so. He had no interest in her that way. He loved Laurel. He didn’t even know why taking Felicity out mattered to him.

Or, for that matter, why he was here in this basement, when he could be out himself, enjoying the city and living the high life.

“If you put this amount of effort into wooing Oliver,” she said sharply, “he’d be here already.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and went to make another fruitless phone call.

* * *

He called by the Queen mansion and spent a few enjoyable hours with Thea, who despite the incarceration of her mother was in relatively high spirits.

But there was no sign of Oliver.

“He does still live here, right?”

“He’s here most mornings,” Thea shrugged, “but I never hear him come in. And even then it’s like five minutes of him drinking coffee and leaving early. I barely see him.”

A thought struck Tommy then, and he had to swallow hard. Was Oliver spending his nights with Laurel? Had Tommy already missed his chance by giving her the time she’d asked for?

Was he being left behind by the two of them?

Again?

“I don't think he’s with Laurel,” Thea said suddenly, and Tommy jumped at her voice. He’d almost forgotten she was there. He looked up to see her watching him with a sympathetic expression on her face.

“What,” he said and then had to clear his throat because the word came out strained and strangled and high pitched and he was a grown man goddammit, he can speak. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, Tommy,” Thea sighed. “I’ve known you far too long. Did you know you have an actual distinct expression for ’Shit, what if Laurel is still in love with Oliver?’”

“Do not,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

“Do so,” his surrogate younger sister teased. “But seriously, he’s not with her.”

“How do you know that?”

“We talk,” Thea shrugs.

“You and Ollie?”

“Me and Laurel.”

“Ah,” Tommy bit his lip, “how is she?”

“Confused,” Thea said, “and she still needs time. But she said she liked the flowers. She likes that you’re giving her space.”

“So I am doing something right,” Tommy smiled.

“One or two things, yeah,” Thea teased and Tommy threw popcorn at her.

“If you want to talk to Oliver,” she said after their minor food fight ended with more popcorn on the floor than in their mouths, “you know where he'll be.”

“QC,” Tommy sighed. “I don't really know why I haven’t already gone there.”

“Oliver 3.0 is a hard man to talk to,” she said knowingly.

Tommy thought about that. If Oliver before the island was version 1.0, then was 2.0 the post-island club owner mask or the vigilante? And did that mean that the new post-earthquake Oliver was version 3.0 or 4.0? Maybe he’d ask Felicity. She seemed like the type to know about versioning numbers.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” he decided. “Maybe.”

“That's what I love about you,” Thea grinned, “your decisiveness.”

He threw the last popcorn kernel at her head and she shamelessly picked it out of her hair and ate it, grinning at him as if she was the child he remembered and not the young woman sitting in front of him. 

“Watch your film,” he said.

* * *

He wanted not to give Oliver any warning so he told the security guard on the reception desk that he was there to see Felicity.

Her face when she collected him from the elevator was a picture.

“You didn't have to come and get me.”

“I kinda did,” she says, “new company policy. No unaccompanied visitors wandering the halls.”

He raised an eyebrow at that and she shrugged.

“So are you doing this then? Talking to him?”

“Maybe,” he said. “You don't have to come with.”

“Weren't you listening?” She scowled, “it's a new company policy. I can't leave you alone or the guards will get all tazer happy. And I don't see you coping any better than that cat did.”

“What cat?”

“There was a cat,” she said, waving a hand absently, “a guard tazed it, the whole place smelled like burnt fur for weeks. Weeks.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. 

“Oliver is security conscious,” she said meaningfully. “As if he wasn't the one breaking in here and Merlyn and every other place a few months ago.”

“He broke in to Merlyn Global?”

“We did,” she said with emphasis, then paused. “Story for another day. I still get dizzy thinking about that elevator shaft.”

Her eyes seemed to go unfocused for a second and he waved a hand in front of her face.

“Right!” She said, snapping back to the present. “I’m here. You’re here. Oliver’s here, right.”

“Right.”

She led him to the stairwell.

“We could have just gotten back in the elevator,” he pointed out.

“It’s only two floors and it’s bad for the environment.”

“Really?”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t really mind walking and the staircase exit was surprisingly close to Oliver’s office.

Diggle sat in a chair outside the glass wall, idly flicking through a magazine.

“Mr Merlyn to see Mr Queen,” Tommy said, a little snidely, “and I’d like a coffee please Moneypenny.”

“I take mine black,” Diggle replied, without looking up, “if you’re offering.”

Tommy leaned around to peer through the window, noticing too late that the glass was frosted.

He looked back to Diggle to see that the bodyguard had raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I'm just gonna wait here,” Felicity said.

“Coward,” Tommy accused.

“This is your meeting,” she replied, “you just used my name to get through the door.”

“How times have changed,” Tommy mused. Then, taking a deep breath as if he was about to jump into deep water, he pushed the door open and entered without knocking.

Oliver looked up. He sat behind an impressively large glass desk, dressed in an immaculate suit.

Armani, part of Tommy’s mind noted. Last winter’s collection.

“Tommy,” Oliver said, his brow furrowing. “You’re not wearing the sling.”

“Not for a few weeks now,” Tommy said, walking over to seat himself in a chair in front of Oliver’s desk.

Oliver stared at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“What?” Tommy made himself grin, “no ’hey buddy,’ today?”

“Hey, buddy,” Oliver said obligingly, “what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

Tommy thought he could see actual shutters lock into place behind Oliver’s eyes.

“I'm not talking to you about Laurel.”

“I’m not talking to you about Laurel, either,” Tommy replied, “this is something else.”

“What?”

“The club -”

Oliver waved a hand.

“It’s yours,” he said, “I’m giving it to you.”

“Okay, er, wow, thanks,” Tommy said, taken aback. “But it’s your club.”

“Not anymore.”

“What?” Tommy said, getting more than a little annoyed at Oliver’s dismissive tone. “All of it?”

“All of it.”

“Even the basement?”

Oliver looked at him, his face locked into an expression he probably thought was neutral but just looked robotic to Tommy.

“What’s your point?”

“You need to come by the club,” Tommy said, “check out the basement.”

“Really?”

Oliver looked past Tommy, and Tommy looked over his shoulder but there was nothing to see. Just a closed door and a frosted glass window. And Oliver’s two partners waiting, out of sight.

“Did they put you up to this?”

“They?”

“Diggle,” Oliver said, “and Felicity.”

“Maybe?”

“Tommy,” Oliver sighed.

“Ollie, they have a point,” Tommy said. “Things are bad out there, really bad. The Glades is a war zone.”

“People died, Tommy.”

“People are still dying, Oliver, and you could change that.”

“I’m needed here.”

Tommy snorted.

“Anyone of a dozen men could do this job,” he said, “but only you can be the Hood.”

Oliver flinched.

“Look,” Tommy said, “I promised I would talk to you for them, and I’ve done that. Truth is, I miss you man. You’re never around. Thea says she barely sees you. You’re burying yourself in this so you don't have to face the truth. I know, I’ve done it myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And so I know that it doesn’t work. Look I'm not saying you have to get back on the streets, but come by the club, talk to her, talk to them.”

“Diggle and I are talking.”

“About everything but the hooded elephant in the room, I’m sure.”

“He knows where I stand.”

“Well she doesn’t,” Tommy snapped, suddenly angry on Felicity’s behalf. “So take ten minutes out of your day and go see what she made for you. And if you still don't want in I guess we'll have to put an ad on Craig's List or something. Vigilante wanted. Drive for vengeance optional. Weaponry provided.”

Oliver stared at him. He didn’t smile. Oliver 1.0 would have smiled at that.

“I’ll even give you cover,” Tommy said, “tomorrow night is the big night before reopening party. I made it into a fundraiser for some charities that are working in the Glades. Everyone's going to be there - even Laurel.” That was true, Thea had promised him she would drag her along no matter what. Tommy had been on the other side of Thea’s wheedling too many times to think she would fail.

“Come to the party,” he says, “make a stop in the basement, have the conversation, at least give her some closure.”

“Her?”

“Felicity.”

“Since when are you two so close?” Oliver said, his voice strangely intense.

“Since we’re the only two people in your club most nights. She's a sweet girl. And she spent all of that money you gave her on you.”

“That was supposed to be for her.”

“Well you can tell her that yourself tomorrow.”

Oliver gritted his teeth and Tommy worried for the structural safety of the pen he still held in his hand.

Then the moment passed and his best friend seemed to almost sag in his chair.

“Fine,” Oliver said, “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Tommy said. 

He got up and re-fastened his jacket, letting his eyes sweep over the room.

“You know,” he said, “I can see what you’re trying to do here, but it really isn’t you.”

“It’s the new me,” Oliver said.

“I liked the previous version better,” Tommy replied, then he opened the door and left before Oliver could respond.


	3. All dressed up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The party chapter got long so I split it in two... Here's the first half

“I still don't get why I had to get dressed up for this,” Felicity grumbled, pulling at her delicate necklace as if it was a particularly tight fitting collar.

“Two reasons,” Tommy said, “one, because you need to fit in and as cute as that pink shirt of yours is, this is a formal event with a strict dress code.”

“And two?” she asked, with an almost but not quite scowl on her face. In the sparkly golden dress with her hair down and styled, she looked like a particularly annoyed Barbie doll. But years of experience with women had taught him that was not a thought to be shared. Ever.

“Two,” he said, “because I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You have a what?” She said, her scowl disappearing in the face of confusion. “I don't get it.”

“What kind of scoundrel would I be if I didn't take every opportunity to see the women in my life in short tight skirts?”

Felicity raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure that’s a definition of ’scoundrel’?” She asked, “because it sounds an awful lot like ’gay best friend’ and so I have to ask if there's something you’re not telling me?” She did finger quotes twice and Tommy couldn’t help but grin.

“We prefer the term ’metrosexual’,” he corrected with a set of finger quotes of his own.

“And wouldn’t a so-called,” finger quotes, “’scoundrel’ be more interested in getting women out of clothes than into them?”

“I'm reformed,” he said.

“Whatever,” she retorted, “you just didn’t want to have no one to talk to while you wait for Laurel to arrive.”

“My dear Felicity,” Tommy said, checking to make sure his bow tie was straight one last time, “I’m the host. Everyone is going to want to talk to me.”

“So why am I here?” She said, throwing up her hands in exasperation.

“Free food, free drink and a chance to hobnob with the cream of society?”

“I'd rather be playing World of Warcraft.”

He stared at her, aghast.

“Seriously?”

“Okay, no, not seriously,” she said, “I'm much more of a Starcraft girl.”

“What did you do without me?” Tommy says, offering her a friendly arm.

She slipped her arm through his and let him guide her out of the back office of Verdant to the main room where the club staff were putting the final touches on the decorations.

“Mostly hacked federal agencies for your best friend,” she said. “But there was also that time I infiltrated an underground casino with the intention of being caught counting cards.”

“Felicity Smoak,” he said, charmed and impressed, “you really are remarkable.”

Felicity seemed to pause in her step then stumbled against him.

“You okay?” He asked, reaching out to support her.

“Fine,” she said, but her face was pale and her expression odd. “What did you say my cover story was for being here?”

“We’re friends, you don’t need a cover,” Tommy said, then off her look added, “but if you insist, you helped me with the club refurb. New system, upgrades that kind of thing. This is a thank you.”

“Right.”

He eyed her, noting the fact that her back was stiff and her arm through his felt suddenly more formal than friendly.

“Hey,” he said, turning so he can take her hand in his and lean in. “You don’t have to do this, I just thought it would be more fun than sitting in the basement all night waiting for Oliver.” Like you do every night, he added in his head.

“Yeah,” she replied, but he’s not convinced.

“If this really isn't your scene,” he says, “it’s okay if you want to bow out.”

“No,” she said, sounding suddenly determined, “it’ll be nice to see how the other half lives.”

“Okay,” he said, making a mental note to keep an eye on her anyway. “Whatever you want.”

He plucked two glasses of champagne off of a nearby tray and led her across to meet the representatives of the charities the party was officially in aid of.

* * *

“You know it’s a professional sport in Korea,” she said to him after pleasantries were exchanged and the first guests had begun to arrive.

“What is?”

“Starcraft. The video game.”

He blinked.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope, they have leagues and everything.”

“Huh,” he said, “what do you know?”

“Mr Merlyn,” a waiter said by his ear, “you’re needed in the back.”

Tommy turned to excuse himself from Felicity but she just waved him off and started talking wine and cheese pairings with one of the old charity matriarchs of Starling City.

He eyed her, but she seemed comfortable enough, and he was needed elsewhere, so he left her to small talk and headed off to fulfill his hosting duties.

It was a relatively simple problem to fix and he had time to think as he moved on to greet arriving guests by the door.

She was an enigma this Felicity. Equal parts stammering nervousness and cool competence. A technical mind in an impressive body (he might be in love with Laurel but that doesn’t make him blind). Ditsy and daring by different turns.

He could easily see why Oliver had brought her into his secret - her technical wizardry must have been essential to him. But why she was so loyal to him - even after what only the most charitable of people would call a brush off - and why she would choose to spend all her money on a man who had already walked away, those questions remained unanswered.

He thought of Oliver’s reaction when he questioned how Tommy knew Felicity. It hadn’t quite been jealous, but he thought there might have been an edge of possessiveness in his tone. 

But Oliver never had female friends. Women had one role in his life - or at least women he wasn't related to. And Oliver loved women - too much some might say, given the amount of extra curricular relationships he pursued despite his commitment to Laurel back in the day.

But that was Oliver 1.0.

Tommy just didn’t know about the more recent versions.

But speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“Hey buddy.”

Tommy turned to grin at Oliver.

“Hey, glad you could make it.”

Tommy looked over Oliver’s shoulder to nod to Diggle and was pleasantly surprised to receive a nod in return.

“Where is she?” Oliver said sounding impatient.

“Laurel’s not here yet.”

“No,” Oliver said, looking like he might be grinding his teeth, “not Laurel. Felicity.”

“Inside,” Tommy said, waving a hand absently. Despite his affected nonchalance he was determined to watch Oliver closely. “I put her on the guest list, didn’t think it was fair to keep her locked in the basement like Cinderella all night.”

Oliver grunted and Tommy tried to figure out if that was a positive or negative noise.

“I thought we should wait until after the speeches when the dancing starts. No one will notice your absence then.” 

Oliver nodded but didn’t say anything so Tommy decided to prod him a little.

“She cleans up well your IT girl.” Oliver stayed silent but Tommy could swear there’s a muscle jumping in his jaw. He looked to Diggle and noted the bodyguard’s amused expression. So he’s not the only one who has noticed this then.

“I last saw her talking to Mildred Bennett,” he said, “if you want to go rescue her.”

“I’ll check it out,” Oliver said, then picked up a glass of champagne as he walked past Tommy into the club. Diggle followed and Tommy would swear he saw Diggle roll his eyes, but the light was bad and the moment brief so maybe he imagined it.

But he didn’t think so. Interesting.

He wanted to follow Oliver but was obliged to stay on the door fulfilling his host duties.

Laurel and Thea were two of the last to arrive.

“Thea!” Tommy greeted her, opening his arms for a hug. Thea obliged him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Tommy resisted the urge to ruffle her hair, knowing the complicated up do must have taken her ages.

“So I brought a friend,” Thea said as she stepped back, “I’m not sure if you know...?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, playing along, “Laurel right? We met at that thing that time? I’m Tommy.”

Laurel smiled and it seemed genuine.

“It’s lovely to see you, Tommy,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“You too,” he said, “you both look beautiful.”

“What?” Thea said, “this old thing?”

“Oliver’s here somewhere,” Tommy said, wanting to make sure Laurel wasn’t caught unaware.

“But it’s not between the hours of 7.45 and 8am,” Thea said archly, “are you sure he’s not about to turn into a pumpkin?”

“I think we're safe until midnight,” Tommy retorted.

He looked down to check the guest list. There were only a few names left to be ticked off, so his job here was done.

He offered an arm to Thea, being sure to choose the side opposite Laurel so as to not put her on the spot.

“Would you lovely ladies care to join me inside?”

Thea grinned and slipped her arm through his.

Laurel snorted.

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we Merlyn?”

“I wouldn’t want to presume,” he grinned at her and she stepped around Thea to take his other arm.

“This is the life,” he announced, “two beautiful girls on my arm. It doesn’t get better.”

The three of them walked in together and just as they stepped through the door Tommy thought of Oliver and wondered if he might take the sight of them badly.

But it turned out he needn't have worried.

Oliver’s attention seemed entirely taken up with Felicity.

Tommy’s gaze followed his and noted Felicity talking to a few men in an animated manner that suggested the topic of conversation was something technical.

Oliver’s expression was fixed and neutral, but Tommy could see the tension in his shoulders from across the room. 

Felicity, for her part, appeared to be entirely unaware of his observation and was now laughing prettily at something one of her conversational partners had said. Tommy felt suddenly incredibly proud of himself for insisting she dress up.

Tommy watched as Diggle said something in Oliver’s ear and Oliver turned, his entire manner changing into the charming friendliness that Tommy now knew to be a facade.

“Thea,” Oliver greeted, stepping forward with both hands out.

Interesting, Tommy thought, that both of them had chosen to greet Thea first, as if they were both nervous of scaring Laurel away.

Thea broke away from Tommy and Laurel to hug her brother.

“I’ve missed you,” Tommy heard her say.

“I’m right here,” Oliver said, brow furrowing, “I saw you this morning.”

“It’s not the same and you know it,” Thea said, leaning back to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, but so quietly that Tommy couldn’t actually hear it and instead read the words on his friend’s lips. “I'll do better.”

The siblings broke apart and Oliver turned to Laurel, who was still holding Tommy’s arm.

Tommy looked down at their linked arms and wondered if he should step back, but then Oliver stepped in and kissed Laurel’s cheek.

“Hey Laurel.”

“Hi Oliver.”

And was it Tommy’s imagination, or was she holding on to him tighter than before?

“Here,” Oliver said, snagging a glass of champagne off of a passing tray and holding it out to Laurel.

“Hey,” Thea objected.

“How old are you again?” Oliver asked, but his tone was light.

“Tommy?” Thea said, sliding her arm back into his, “could you hook me up?”

“I think we have some sparkling cider in the kitchen,” Tommy teased, “or there’s always ginger ale?”

Thea pouted at him, sticking out her bottom lip to a ridiculous degree and Tommy took pity on her.

“Let’s see what we can find,” he said and she grinned and tugged on his arm. He let go of Laurel, hoping internally that this wouldn’t be the last time he got to touch her (all his moments with Laurel these days seemed to come with the same thought) and let Thea pull him towards the bar.

Out of the corner of his eye he noted Felicity watching Oliver and Laurel with what she probably thought was an unreadable expression. Interesting.


	4. With somewhere to go

Tommy watched but Oliver never went anywhere near Felicity, despite several opportunities. Laurel stuck close to Thea and Oliver seemed to orbit around the two of them, occasionally ducking in to talk for a few minutes before returning to sauntering around the party making small talk, his casual gait masking the fact that he never went anywhere near his former confidante.

Diggle maintained a position near a pillar, arms folded and Tommy was reminded that while Oliver had developed lethal skills on that island of his, Diggle was the one who was currently armed and that shooting people was a literal part of his job description. Unlike Oliver who seemingly pursued it purely as a hobby.

He stepped in close to Diggle, trying to lean against the pillar casually.

“Were they always like this?” He asked, hiding his mouth behind a champagne glass.

“I don't know what you’re talking about, sir,” Diggle said loyally, his eyes following Oliver through the crowd, with an occasional flick to check on Felicity.

“Bullshit.”

“Sir?”

“C’mon Diggle,” Tommy said, “I can't be imagining this, right? My imagination is not that subtle.”

Diggle snorted and Tommy chalked that one up as one in his ’make Diggle laugh’ column.

Tommy looked out over the club.

Oliver was talking to several old acquaintances, businessman persona firmly in place. Smooth talker, smart dresser, the kind of man you would trust your investments to. The kind of man who had everything he wanted.

Tommy might actually believe it too, if he hadn't noted Oliver standing consistently with his back to Felicity, and the way the blonde’s eyes tracked him through the crowd as closely as Diggle’s did. By now he knew the signs of yet another Oliver mask.

He just didn't think this one was aimed at the general population.

“He’s doing it on purpose, right? Ignoring her?”

Diggle snorted softly, but his head also inclined slightly.

“Okay, but why?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Diggle says. “Caught up in what he thinks he should do, what he thinks he wants. Because he’s an idiot.”

“What are you saying?” Tommy asked.

Diggle eyes flicked to him and he shook his head.

“You’re all idiots,” the bodyguard said.

“All of us?” Tommy felt his eyebrows raise.

Diggle looked away, his expression smug. 

“What about Felicity?” Tommy asked, “is she an idiot?”

“No,” Diggle said, his eyes finding Felicity by the bar, picking at a napkin. His expression softened. “But in some ways she’s worse than he is.”

Tommy watched Felicity pull a smartphone from her purse and start tapping away. She bit her lip as she typed, a nervous habit maybe.

A man stepped up to her, holding out two glasses of champagne and Tommy watched as Felicity noticed the guy’s proximity and looked up, her face momentarily falling when she realised he wasn’t who she was hoping for.

“It’s more than a crush, isn't it?”

Diggle turned to him then and Tommy suddenly had six foot plus of glaring bodyguard in his face and he took a hasty step back.

“Leave her out of it,” Diggle said, low and serious.

“Leave her out of what?”

“This thing, this game you and Oliver are playing. Felicity is not a piece of ass for you to distract Oliver with so you can get the girl.”

Tommy blinked, then felt his own anger rising in response to Diggle’s aggression. “And she’s not a consolation prize either,” the bodyguard added.

“It’s not like that,” he said, standing his ground and squaring his shoulders. “I don't think of her like that.”

“I'm watching you, Merlyn.”

“And you watch everyone, right? You see all and know all.”

“I see enough.”

“What do you see right now?”

Diggle’s eyes swept over him.

“I see someone who’s out of his depth.”

“You asked me to get involved.”

“She asked you to get involved, I just didn't have a better idea.”

“It's working, isn't it?”

“We’ll see,” Diggle stepped back, straightening his jacket. His eyes flicked past Tommy and his lips curved into a half smile.

Tommy twisted in time to see Oliver scowl across the room, then school his features back into bland neutrality.

Tommy followed the direction of the gaze and saw Felicity laugh at something the guy she was talking to had just said, her hand coming up to play with her hair.

“So you get to play matchmaker,” he said to Diggle, “but I can't even comment on it?”

“I don't have an ulterior motive,” Diggle said pointedly. “And don't you have speeches to announce? If you stay here much longer someone will notice you talking to the help.”

“You’re a special kind of help,” Tommy said sardonically but he walked away anyway.

“Tommy,” Thea said, snagging his arm as he passed, “this really is a great party, really. But when does the dancing start?”

“Soon,” Tommy reassured her, “and hey save one for me, will you?”

“Depends,” Thea grinned. “You think you can keep up, old man?”

“I can try.”

“Save one for me too,” Laurel stepped in to say and Tommy blinked at her.

“You have all my dances reserved,” he said, “you know what. Aside from, of course, dances already promised to Ms Queen over there.”

Laurel smiled at him and her hand came up to rest lightly on his forearm, and it's all he can do not to lift a finger and trace the line of her cheek.

Or just go ahead and kiss her.

She’s so beautiful when she smiles. It’s enough for him to forget all reason.

“Mr Merlyn. Mr Merlyn?”

Tommy tore his eyes away from Laurel to find the event coordinator from the charitable board demanding his attention. “It’s time for the speeches,” the short brunette in the plain black dress said. 

“Yes,” Tommy said, “right,” and once more walked away from where he wanted to be to do the right thing.

He wondered absently if that was how Oliver felt most days and if that was what made him an idiot in Diggle’s eyes.

* * *

Tommy slipped out when the music cranked up after Oliver presented a cheque to the charitable trust. Felicity had taken her leave halfway through the speeches and he knew Oliver and Diggle would be there soon, but he wanted a moment to check in on her, so he made sure Oliver was still engaged in conversation when he made his move.

He found Felicity sitting on the bottom of that metal staircase, looking out over the darkened basement in silence.

“Am I doing the right thing?” She said as he approached.

“I don’t know,” he said, seating himself beside her. “What’s the right thing here?”

“Starling City needs the Hood,” she said, sounding absolutely certain. “It needs Oliver.”

“And that’s the only reason why you did all this?”

“Yes,” she said, her brow furrowing, “of course.”

Tommy sighed. Diggle was right, they really were all idiots.

Footsteps clanged on the stairs and Felicity jumped to her feet, smoothing her dress down in a nervous gesture.

Tommy sighed and pushed himself up, feeling weary and old beyond his years.

“Tommy,” Oliver said as he descended. “Felicity.”

He couldn’t have been more formal if he tried. Tommy couldn't see Diggle’s face - Oliver blocked the view -but he would bet all the money in the bank the man was rolling his eyes right now.

“Oliver,” Tommy said, nodding.

“Hi Oliver,” Felicity said, her voice surprisingly calm and authoritative.

“I don't know why you asked me here,” Oliver said, “I told you this was over.”

“Actually you didn’t,” Felicity said immediately, “you just put money in my account - in our accounts - and stopped coming round.”

“Felicity-”

“It’s hard to not see that as being paid off,” Felicity said, “disposed of. Thrown away.”

“I didn't throw you away,” Oliver said, “I wanted you to be free of this.”

“Free of what?” Felicity questioned him. “Free of the responsibility? Free of the guilt?”

“Free,” Oliver insisted, “safe. Out of danger.”

“Oliver,” Felicity said, “things are more dangerous than ever.”

“You don't have to come here, Felicity, you could stay out of the Glades.”

“No,” she said and Tommy could see the first hints of the anger he had suspected she had been hiding since he met her, “but this is my city, I’ve lived here all my life and just because I can afford not to live and work in the Glades, doesn’t mean I don't care about the people who do.”

“People died, Felicity.”

“People are still dying Oliver! But you know what’s worse? The muggings, the rapes, the violence on the streets. People who used to be able to say they lived in the nicer areas of the Glades, the bits you might not have even considered the Glades proper, are now afraid to walk down their streets. Who don't let their kids play outside. They used to feel safe and now -”

Her voice cracked and she broke off. Tommy watched as Oliver’s entire body seemed to lean towards her for a second, as if he was about to reach out to her and then stopped himself.

Felicity wrapped her arms around herself, the movement odd in her pretty party dress.

“Hey,” Tommy said, stepping in from the side, his arms open, offering comfort. Because someone had to do it and Oliver obviously wasn’t planning on stepping up.

Felicity looked at him and shook her head and he stepped back, letting his arms fall.

“The city needs a protector.”

“That’s what the police are for,” Oliver said, his voice hard. “I never concerned myself with street crime, you know that.”

“I thought you were wrong then,” she says, “and I think you’re wrong now. Starling City needs you.”

Felicity turned her back on Oliver and walked across the room to where Tommy knew the light switch was.

“I’m already doing all I can for Starling City,” Oliver said, “the company is sponsoring food banks, soup kitchens, any employee who lost their home has been rehoused with three months of rent paid for by me personally.”

“And that helps,” Felicity nodded, “but it’s not enough. It’s not all you can do.”

“Felicity -” and Tommy was surprised to hear how plaintive Oliver sounded when he said her name. As if he was begging her to let him go.

“Oliver,” she said, her tone absolutely level even as her expression looked almost fond. “You know who you are. You need to own that. Everything happens for a reason.”

And she flicked the switch and the lights came up and Tommy was looking at Oliver’s face as he saw what Felicity had turned the lair into.

He looked impressed.

For half a second. Then the bland mask came back up.

“You can't buy me back with toys, Felicity.”

“Why?” She said, her tone bitter, “it’s exactly how you tried to pay me off.”

“It wasn’t a pay off,” he said, “I wanted you to have a life, I want you to have a life outside of this. A normal life.”

“Oliver,” she said shaking her head, “my normal life was dead the second you turned up in the back seat of my car bleeding.”

Oliver looked away then and Tommy could see he was clenching his fists.

“So it’s my fault?” He said, “and I have to pay for that forever?”

“I make my own choices,” she said, “and I choose Starling City. And if I have to do it alone I will.”

“But she won't be alone,” Diggle said, stepping in from the shadows. Tommy has wondered when he was going to speak, if he was going to speak. “Because I choose Starling City too. You brought us into this Oliver, and we can't just walk away. The Undertaking might be over, but there's a lot of work still to do.”

Diggle crossed the room to stand beside Felicity and Felicity lifted her chin with more than a little smugness in the movement and looked back to Oliver.

“Digg,” Oliver said.

“Lawton is still out there,” Diggle said, “you made me a promise.”

“Yes,” Oliver sighed, “I did.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don't want to go back in time,” Oliver admits, “if we did this it can't be like it was.”

“It can be better,” Felicity said, taking a step towards Oliver, intent on him, “we can make a real difference.”

“I’m going to get you killed,” Oliver said. His hand came up to hover in the air for a second and then moved up to run over his own scalp. Tommy noted the gesture, the way his fingers seemed to reach for her across the distance.

“If I get killed,” Felicity said, and Tommy saw Diggle flinch behind her and could see the tension that immediately ran through Oliver’s back at her words. “If I get killed it’s because I chose to do this. It's not on you.”

“You think that will make it easier to cope with,” Oliver said softly, “losing you?”

“I make my own choices Oliver Queen,” Felicity said, setting her jaw, “I'm responsible for what I do, not you. And not you either,” she added, turning to point at Diggle. “My choice, my life.”

“Yet you want me to choose this again,” Oliver says, “knowing the price?”

“You already made that choice,” Felicity said, “you’re just hiding from it.”

Oliver sighed. He turned his back on Felicity and Diggle, walking over to the new equipment, the bright shining weaponry.

“If I come back,” he says, “I don't want to be called the Hood anymore.”

“What do you want to be called?” Diggle asked.

Oliver lifted a green painted arrow in his hands.

And didn't answer.


	5. The dating game

“Laurel wants to date,” Tommy said as he watched Felicity stab a piece of lettuce with a plastic fork on a bench outside the QCHQ building. 

She had admitted to him that she rarely took lunch, so he’d decided to develop a habit of meeting her with take out and dragging her out into the sunshine.

She'd complained the first few times, mentioning deadlines and responsibilities, but this was the third time he’d surprised her at her desk and so far her only objections had been about his choice of take out. Apparently if she’d wanted to eat rabbit food she would have gone to lunch with the junior assistants.

“How do you feel about that?” She asked.

“Well it's something,” he said, “but it feels like a bit of a step backwards. After all, three months ago we were living together.”

“Two months ago you were broken up,” she pointed out, “and a month after that you saw her with Oliver.” Tommy glanced up at that but Felicity didn't look up from her own food or show any sort of outward emotional reaction to her own words. Maybe she’d been practicing them in the mirror. “I’d say dating is a step forward from either of those.”

“True,” Tommy admitted. “I just -”

“You just what?”

“I just wish I knew who else she was dating.”

Her forehead creased.

“But you know that,” she said, “you know that ’dating’ is code for seeing lots of people at once. Obviously she’s going to be seeing him. Obviously.”

“How do you feel about that?” He asked, neutrally.

“Well, I’ve always thought the idea of dating several different guys at the same time was a bit... skeazy.” She said, waving a hand and scrunching up her nose. “It’s like, what if a date goes really well or you get drunk and sleep with one of them? But you’re both still dating other people? When does it become cheating? I don't like it. When I’m seeing someone I only see them. But then maybe that’s why I’m not seeing anyone. I don't like having that kind of logistical conversation.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, “that’s why you’re not dating anyone. The logistics.”

“Well, that and I don't have a lot of spare time right now. Dating someone involves spending time with them. Time I don't have.”

“Make the time,” he shrugged.

“Not that simple.”

“Make it that simple,” he said. “You like this right? Having lunch? So have lunch dates.”

“I prefer my dates to involve a good bottle of wine,” she said, “at least then I know I’m getting something out of the evening.”

“Have wine at lunch.”

“Against company policy,” she shrugged.

Tommy ate a tomato out of his own salad and considered her. She’d side-stepped the original question neatly and he had no doubt that has been her intention.

“Do you want to date someone?”

“Did you miss the thing two sentences ago when I said I had no time?”

“I could set you up.”

“Oh yeah, that would end well,” she said, “’So how do you know Tommy again, Felicity?’”

“I'm not the one with a secret identity,” he said, “we’re friends, it’s really not that complicated.”

“It puts things at risk,” she said.

“It really doesn’t,” he argued. “You’re my friend, we met through Oliver, there's no deeper meaning here.”

“I'm not even supposed to know Oliver,” she pointed out. “Or John for that matter.”

“But you do,” he said, “and for the record when someone tells me they know a great girl, a friend of a friend, my mind doesn’t immediately leap to how a difference in background equals a criminal conspiracy.”

She scowled at him.

“See,” he said, “you’re overthinking it. I’m going to get you a date. You like doctors?”

“I don't know any,” she said, aggressively stabbing at the remains of her lunch.

“Actually, neither do I,” he realised, “but I know a lot of pharmaceutical sales reps - don’t ask.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“It’s set then,” he said, “I’ll find you a date.”

“I don't need you to find me a date.”

“If I have to date, so do you.”

“I don't like dating,” she grumbled.

“Obviously it’s because you’ve been dating the wrong people,” he said and started flicking through his mental Rolodex in search of suitable candidates.

* * *

Ironically it took him less time to set her up than it did for him to set up his own date with Laurel.

And so the following Thursday Felicity met an old college friend of his for drinks.

He hadn’t spent much time in the club basement recently. Their quest was not his, and now that Oliver was back, all three of them are much busier. Felicity didn’t have time to chat while she hacked into Interpol. It’s one of the reasons why he started ambushing her with lunch.

But he made sure he was in the basement that night.

He’s not worried about Felicity - Jason was fun at college but he’s a lot more settled now, and Felicity had actually sounded intrigued when Tommy had described the tech start-up Jason was co-funding.

He just wanted to see Oliver’s reaction.

Diggle had offered to show Tommy some basic self defence moves, which Tommy had accepted as an easy reason for his presence but now regretted. All Diggle’s moves, as defensive as they claimed to be, seemed to end with him flat on his back on the mats, and Tommy was about to beg off, leave his Oliver experiment for another time when he heard the magic words.

“Where’s Felicity?”

Tommy tried to execute the block Diggle was teaching him, but he wasn’t fast enough - again - and he landed hard on the mats and just lay there, staring up at the impressive immovable bulk of John Diggle.

“Digg,” Oliver said, “where’s Felicity?”

“Out,” Diggle said. Tommy had considered briefing him in advance about her whereabouts but then decided he didn't want the lecture that would most likely result.

“Where?”

“I’m not her secretary, Oliver.”

Tommy pushed himself to his feet and wiped his face with a towel.

“She’s on a date,” he said, watching Oliver’s reflection in a nearby screen. If Oliver thought no one was looking at him, his reaction might be more honest.

Oliver blinked.

“She’s on a date?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual even as he watched Oliver’s reaction intently. 

Oliver stood absolutely still, looking at nothing. He wasn’t grinding his teeth, there was no muscle jumping in his jaw. Tommy felt more than a little disappointed.

“I set it up,” he added, knowing he was poking a bear but really wanted to see Oliver react anyway. “She said she didn’t date much. I thought it would be nice.”

Oliver turned then and tilted his head. Tommy abandoned the reflection, choosing instead to focus on the man himself. Oliver looked perplexed, as if he couldn't quite process what he was hearing.

“You set Felicity up on a date?” Oliver asked, brow furrowed.

Tommy wiped sweat of his forehead with the towel and was suddenly aware of the hulking presence of Diggle to his left. He purposely avoided looking at him.

“With who?” Oliver asked.

“Jason Taylor,” Tommy said. He’d spent ages deciding who to set Felicity up with. It had to be someone who wouldn't treat her badly, it had to be someone Felicity would like, or at least not hate, and it had to be someone Oliver knew.

“Jason Taylor?” Oliver asked, “from SCU?”

“That’s the guy.”

“He’s married.”

“Divorced.”

“When?”

“Three years ago. It was amicable. He let Jessie have the house.”

Oliver nodded but Tommy could see he was having difficulty processing this.

“You set Felicity up on a date with Jason Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Where?” Tommy feigned confusion.

“Where is she?”

“She’s on a date with Jason Taylor,” Tommy said, as if he was talking to a three year old.

Oliver did that thing with his mouth where it looked as if he was biting his tongue and chewing his lip at the same time. When he spoke his voice was low and dangerous.

“Where is the date?”

“Oliver,” Diggle said in a warning tone.

“Stay out of this Digg.”

“Take your own advice,” Diggle said evenly, “stay out of it.”

“She’s fine,” Tommy said, “she’s been texting. She's having fun.”

Oliver looked away from the two of them, and Tommy was sure that this time Oliver was grinding his teeth.

“I'm going on patrol,” he suddenly announced and was gone.

Diggle looked at Tommy. Just looked.

“What?” Tommy said.

“You know what.”

“She is allowed to go on a date.” Tommy shrugged.

“Idiots,” Diggle said, half under his breath. “You do know what’s going to happen now, right?” He added in a normal tone to Tommy.

“There’ll be brooding? Manpain?”

Diggle rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t know where she is,” Tommy points out. “I didn't tell him.”

“He’ll track her phone,” Diggle said, matter-of-factly. 

“He wouldn't,” Tommy said. Then he thought about it. “Shit. He wouldn’t crash the date though, would he?”

“Ten bucks says he’ll be on the roof opposite,” Diggle said.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Tommy said, looking out across the empty basement. Oliver was long gone. Land speed records were probably being broken right now. “Has he done this before?”

“She hasn't had a date before,” Diggle said. 

“So how do you know what he’ll do?”

Diggle sent an unimpressed look at him.

“How long have you known him?”

“Since before I could walk,” Tommy said. “But Oliver 1.0 wasn’t big on the stalking. Plenty more fish in the sea was more his kind of life philosophy. And he never had any trouble finding new fish.”

“Yeah well, this Oliver doesn’t like other people playing with his toys.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows.

“And she’s a toy now? Or does he follow you on dates as well?”

“If you honestly think he hasn't lurked across the square from you during one of your lunches you’re deluded, man.”

Tommy stared.

“He did what?”

“First time she talked about having lunch with you I thought he was going to break another training dummy,” Diggle said.

“Oliver is jealous...of me?” 

“Well, he made some excuse about wanted to make sure you weren't leading her on...”

“Does he even listen to himself?” Tommy said angrily, “if anyone is leading her on it’s him.”

“Oliver seems to be a big believer in ’do as I say not as I do’,” Diggle said, crossing over to Felicity’s computer desk. Tommy followed, watching as Diggle logged on with a remarkably long and complex password.

Diggle brought up the GPS tracking software and typed in a few commands.

“Felicity’s phone,” he said and a blue dot appeared on the map where Tommy thought the bar was. “And Oliver’s phone.” A red dot, speeding towards the blue. Oliver must be on his motorcycle.

“Does he even know why he’s doing this?” Tommy asked. “Because this a hell of a lot of commitment for a man who claims to be in love with someone else.” A thought struck him. “Does he do this to Laurel?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“But you weren’t always here, were you?” Tommy realised. “At the beginning it was just him. I wonder what he did then.”

On screen the red dot stopped around the corner from the blue dot. And as they watched, Oliver’s marker paused outside the bar (“Scouting it out,” Diggle said) then made its way to the roof of a nearby building.

“Ten bucks,” Diggle said.

“I didn't take the bet,” Tommy said but he reached for his wallet anyway. Technically this was kinda his fault. 

“So what do we do now?” Tommy said after they had stared at GPS proof of Oliver 3.0’s stalking tendencies for five minutes. “Do we tell her?”

“Are you joking?”

“No...” Tommy said.

“No, we don't tell her,” Diggle said, incredulously. “Do you want to make this worse?”

“I just wanted to see what he would do,” Tommy said. “I didn't think he would stalk her!”

“You’re playing with fire,” Diggle said. “You need to leave them alone.”

“She’s my friend,” Tommy says, “I want her to be happy.”

“And if she’s happy with him you get Laurel.”

“No.”

Diggle raised an eyebrow at Tommy.

“Fine, yes, but mostly I want her to be happy,” Tommy admitted, “everything else is just a bonus.”

“Uh huh,” Diggle said, looking unimpressed.

“He’s moving,” Tommy said, pointing at the screen. “And so is she.”

Oliver’s red dot was moving along rooftops, in line with Felicity's blue dot.

“Jason must be walking her to her car,” Tommy said. 

“She’s gonna see you, Oliver,” Diggle muttered, “keep your distance.”

“So we’re rooting for him now?”

“You ever been on the end of a Felicity Smoak tongue lashing?”

“No,” Tommy said, “but it can't be that bad.”

“You’ll learn,” Diggle snorted. 

On screen Felicity’s blue dot was now accelerating away from the bar. Oliver’s red dot was retracing his steps.

“You think she’ll come here?” Tommy asked.

Diggle shrugged.

“Maybe.”

As if on cue Tommy’s phone rang.

“It’s Felicity,” Tommy said, somewhat unnecessarily as Diggle could see the screen too. “What do I say?”

“Ask her how her date was.” Diggle shrugged.

“And don't mention tall, green and stalker-y?” Tommy said sardonically, “Yeah, this’ll be fun.”

Diggle glared at him and Tommy pressed the Answer button.

“Felicity,” he said, as cheerfully as he could, “hi! How was your date?”


	6. Two conversations

“So we need to talk,” Tommy said as he sat at the bar in Verdant beside Oliver. It was late afternoon and they were the only two people there. Well, Diggle was in the basement doing...something, but it was close enough to privacy.

Oliver had spent most of the day in a board meeting and had apparently left as soon as it ended to come to the club and try and process everything the suits were telling him. If Tommy understood it all correctly the bottom line was that QC was in trouble and needed a large injection of cash or a new massively successful product if it was going to survive the financial year. At that point Tommy had poured them both a glass of the hard stuff. If he needed it just to listen to Oliver he was sure Oliver needed it too.

“We are talking,” Oliver said.

“Well,” Tommy said, “yes, but that was work stuff. We need to talk about Felicity.”

“What about Felicity?” Someone who knew Oliver less well might have been convinced by the casual act, but Tommy was slowly learning his way around Oliver 3.0 and he didn't miss the increased tension in the shoulders or the way his knuckles were white around the glass in his hands.

“I get that you worry,” Tommy said slowly. He'd been trying to come up with the right words for this conversation all weekend and he still wasn’t sure he had found them all. He’d avoided Felicity since Thursday, wary of what he might accidentally let slip. “But you know that the stalking thing is really fricking creepy, right.”

“I was worried,” Oliver said, blandly.

“Except that no, you weren’t,” Tommy replied. “You knew I knew where she was, you knew she had her phone, you knew the guy she was with wasn’t a creep, and I told you she had texted me and told me she was fine. And yet you tracked her phone’s GPS and followed her on her date. That is not worried, Oliver, that’s concerning.”

“You don't understand.”

“You’re right,” Tommy said, “I don't. Because as fond as I am of Felicity, and as much as I love Laurel, I have never felt the need to stalk either one of them.”

“It’s not stalking.”

“Then what is it?”

“I...worry.”

“That’s it?” Tommy said incredulously, “that’s all you’ve got? Because worrying doesn’t explain why you would follow us on our lunch - our incredibly safe and nonthreatening lunch as friends. Because I am certainly no threat to her.”

“I wanted to make sure she was okay,” Oliver said, “she’s been through a lot this year.”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?”

“Exactly,” Oliver said, turning to Tommy, “it’s my fault, it’s my responsibility. I brought her into this and it’s my job to keep her safe.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes.

“What about Laurel?”

“What about Laurel?”

“Laurel,” Tommy said as pointedly as he could, “is not your responsibility. She’s not yours. I know you two have spent the better part of a decade running towards and away from each other, but that’s on both sides. She kept herself perfectly safe without you for years.”

“I know,” Oliver sighed. “That’s why I stopped following her.”

“You...stopped?”

“When I first...got back,” Oliver admitted, “I followed her then. I saw the two of you talking.” He looked up at Tommy. “I was jealous, I admit it.” 

“And?”

“And I stopped. It was too hard seeing you both.” Oliver looked at the empty glass in his hands, turning it slowly on the bar. “You looked so happy. It was everything I wanted and I couldn't watch it happening anymore.”

“So what changed?”

“Nothing,” Oliver says, “I haven’t checked on Laurel in months.”

“But you’re checking on Felicity?”

“Laurel is tough,” Oliver said, “she’s the daughter of a cop and we both know she could throw a punch better than either of us before...” Tommy heard all the unsaid words in sentence. The island. Oliver’s exile and presumed death. His lost half-decade.

“And then there’s the shotgun,” Oliver said.

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed, remembering Laurel taking a shot at the assassin that came after the kid. “Then there’s the shotgun.”

“Laurel doesn’t need protecting.”

“But Felicity does?”

“She lives alone,” Oliver says, “she doesn’t have anyone. And this is dangerous work.” He looked at Tommy, eyes beseeching him to understand. “She doesn’t have a shotgun.”

“I get that Oliver, I really do.” Tommy said, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But you’re already there to protect her during your work. A date isn’t the same as infiltrating a casino or confronting a jewel thief.”

“She told you about that,” Oliver said, his mouth curved into a half smile. 

“Yes, she told me,” Tommy said, “and I agree that she needed protection then. But you can't just follow her around in the other parts of her life. She’s not an idiot. She’ll see you and she’ll be hurt and do you really want that argument?”

“She hasn't noticed me so far,” Oliver said. “Which kinda reinforces the fact that she needs my protection.”

“Oliver,” Tommy said as kindly and plainly as he could, “if you carry on like this the only person she's going to want protection from is you.”

Oliver reacted, swaying back in his seat as if he was avoiding a punch.

“You’re wrong.” He said, his voice sounded strangled.

“I'm not,” Tommy said, “normal sane people don't stalk their friends and call it protection.”

“I'm not normal.”

“But you are sane.” Tommy said, though he wondered as he said it if Oliver would argue that point too. Sane people didn’t take up a bow and arrow and intimidate white collar criminals into obeying the law. Sane people didn't spend five years on an island fighting for their lives. Or if they did they didn't stay sane. At some point in the past six years Oliver must have had to make a choice between sanity and survival. And even though he was back now, who knew what permanent mental damage that had done?

Oliver stayed silent, his eyes on his empty glass.

“You need to stop following her,” Tommy said. 

“What if she needs me?”

“If she needs you she’ll call,” Tommy said, “trust her to call you.”

“I don’t like it,” Oliver admitted. “I don't like her going on dates. She’s going to get hurt.”

“Emotionally?” Tommy asked and after a second’s pause, Oliver nodded. “If she does you can buy her ice cream and tell her he’s an idiot. It’s still not a good enough reason to stalk her. There is no reason good enough to stalk her. If Jason ever lays a hand on her she doesn’t want, you can break his jaw, but even then only after she tells you about it. Not because you were watching it happen through a window.”

“I don't like it.”

“You don't have to like it,” Tommy emphasised. “It's her life. Her choices. You can't make them for her.”

Oliver stared at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar for a long moment, then finally he nodded.

“Okay,” Tommy said, feeling relieved. He wasn’t entirely convinced Oliver could go cold turkey immediately on this, but the fact he’d accepted that it was the wrong thing to be doing was more of an acknowledgement than Tommy had actually expected.

It was a first step.

He’d purposely avoided bringing up the jealousy angle even though anyone with eyes could see it had been a factor. As he’d suspected Oliver had couched his stalking of Felicity in terms of protection and safety, and Tommy thought that pointing out that his actions carried more than a hint of covetous envy would fall on deaf ears.

Get him to stop following her first. Then get him to see that the reasons why he was following her in the first place were pretty far from pure. Then -

Well he wasn’t sure about step three of the plan. Step one and two were pretty big all by themselves. He’d deal with step three when and if he got there.

But for now this was more of a victory than he was expecting. So he could call this a good day and move onto the next thing.

His date with Laurel.

* * *

Despite Oliver’s claims that Laurel was no longer on his stalkee list, Tommy spent some time planning a date that would be as hard as possible for Oliver to surveil.

In the end he decided that they needed to get out of the city.

He considered a boat, but the legacy of the Queen’s Gambit still loomed large. Oliver might have come back from the dead but Sara certainly hadn't. And reminding Laurel of that wouldn't make for an auspicious start to the evening.

Instead he chose to pack a picnic and head for the countryside. He picked a spot without any foliage to hide in and no high buildings to spy from. He supposed Oliver could still find them on GPS but at least he couldn’t get close enough to eavesdrop.

They’re on a hill, a cliff really, overlooking the ocean. The glass and metal skyscrapers of the city gleamed in the middle distance.

“This is nice,” Laurel said as she sipped the champagne he had brought.

“I’m sorry about the food,” Tommy admitted, “it seems sandwiches are harder than I remember.”

He’d been determined to make the whole meal himself and had ended up with bread soggy from sliced tomatoes and a chicken salad wrap that literally fell apart in his hands.

“I don't mind about the food,” Laurel said, “I like the quiet. And the view.” She glanced at him and smiled. “The company is pretty good too.”

Tommy grinned.

“I do have one final trick up my sleeve,” he said, reaching for the hamper. “I wanted to make all the food myself but there was one thing I bought from a specialist.”

Laurel quirked an eyebrow at him, playfully. 

Tommy made a big production of retrieving the paper box, presenting it to her with a flourish.

“Tommy!” She cried, delighted.

“The Belgian chocolate is your favorite, right?”

She mock-scowled at him.

“I’m warning you Merlyn,” Laurel said, “if there isn't a caramel toffee in this box you are a dead man.”

“Well in the interests of my ongoing existence,” he said as he flipped open the box, “I got the full selection.”

Tommy lifted up the box of French macaroons for Laurel to see and she grinned as widely as he’d ever seen her.

“I thought the bakery closed.”

“It did,” Tommy says, “but I found out where the patisserie chef moved to and he still had some of the old boxes.”

“See Tommy,” Laurel said and she bit into a pink macaroon and closed her eyes in bliss, “this is why I love you.”

Tommy froze and stared at her, but Laurel seemed far too caught up in the delicate confection to have registered her own words.

Smiling to himself, he topped up her champagne glass. 

Apparently there was hope for them yet.


	7. Bullets and bagels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bringing this series into line with season two, so this chapter takes place during 2.01 - City of Heroes.

Despite the fact that he had voted for him, Tommy had to admit he’d never liked Starling City’s current mayor. And the fact the man made a crack to Laurel about CNRI’s collapse and closure made him like him even less.

Tommy held on to his champagne glass and said nothing. The DA, Laurel’s new boss whom he was under strict instructions not to embarrass her in front of, was standing right there and Laurel had never had any difficulty brushing off pompous blowhards before.

And this was a big thing. A big night. He definitely did not want to be the one to ruin it for her.

In her new role as ADA Laurel seemed to be constantly attending fundraisers for the Glades. He’d thought initially that Adam Donner was trying to slip his way into her life by using her as arm candy, but it had swiftly become clear that what the newly elected DA was really in search of was a guide to the social scene. Laurel, as a result of the years spent circling Oliver and himself, was as well known in the upper echelons of society as she was in the police department. Known and respected. Donner had evidently been able to identify that right away and had no qualms about exploiting it. Tommy was somewhat impressed at the man’s nerve, but he still wasn't convinced there weren’t more personal motivations at stake too. After all this was Laurel. Her brilliant brains were only exceeded by her gorgeous looks. And she had a habit of attracting men without even trying.

Lord knew he was one of them.

But she had invited him here tonight as her date. Her response to his picnic and a very public statement. Tommy felt like this was some sort of marker, a big step forward, and he was determined not to screw it up.

“You have failed this city!”

He spun on his feet, his first thought being that Oliver had found out about the date and lost his mind.

But there were several armed and hooded figures descending on the room, not just one.

And there was no bow, only guns.

This wasn't Oliver.

The copycats had made the news but he hadn’t really been paying attention. Felicity had brought it up to Oliver but the man still refused to get involved in street crime - a decision that no one else on Team Arrow, as Felicity had christened them, agreed with.

Tommy was jolted out of his thoughts by the approach of an armed vigilante, and then Laurel was there, lashing out in her dress and heels, disarming and knocking him backwards down the stairs.

Tommy saw the second gunman before she did and he moved instinctively, throwing himself between her body and the weapon.

He met the eyes of the man above the mask, under the hood, and he knew he was dead.

The trigger pulled and Tommy’s heart skipped a beat.

But nothing happened.

The gunman lashed out and Tommy fell backwards, knocking into Laurel and taking her down with him to the carpet.

There were shouts, screams, noises, but Tommy kept one hand pressed against his bruised cheek and the other behind him, holding Laurel down, keeping them both under the line of fire. Out of danger.

He could hear her breathing heavily from the heightened effects of adrenalin and shock. Their breathing slowed down together, and he realised he could feel her heartbeat return to normal through the skin under his hand.

Then he realised where the hand was.

High up on her thigh, her dress having fallen back. 

Tommy turned his head and she was right there, staring at him, his hand on her leg, and suddenly the tension between them went from adrenalin and survival to something a lot less pure.

“You could have been shot,” Laurel said, her eyes dark.

“It wasn't loaded,” Tommy replied.

“You didn't know that.”

“No,” he admitted, “I didn't.”

They’re sat incredibly close and he felt sure that she was about to lean in and kiss him, but then Donner leant down to offer her a hand up.

“Laurel! Thank God,” the DA said, “I was worried.”

“Is the mayor...?”

Donner shook his head.

“These vigilantes are getting out of control. First we had one, now there’s dozens.”

“We’ll take them all down,” Laurel promised her boss, and Tommy had to look away from them both, knowing that while these gun-toting copycats definitely needed to be dealt with, there was one vigilante the city desperately wanted back on the streets.

Laurel’s cell phone rang then. She stared at it and pressed the button to send it to voicemail and Tommy just knew.

He pulled his own phone out, waited a few seconds and sure enough ’Oliver Queen calling’ popped up on screen. He turned his back to answer.

“It's okay,” he said immediately, “she’s fine.”

“Good.” Oliver said. Even through the tinny line Tommy could hear the relief his best friend was trying to hide under gruffness.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. He thought about all the things he could say, should say. Decided to stick with the facts. “You know the mayor is dead,” he said, “shot down by vigilantes.” He hoped the emphasis he put on the plural wouldn't be missed.

“I know,” Oliver said and hung up.

Tommy looked at the phone in his hand for a second before turning to see Laurel being questioned by her father. A plastic hand lay on the ground by her feet. 

He pocketed the phone and stepped back to support her. 

* * *

Thea refused to go to college. She had made a point of deferring for the year and Oliver made no secret of being unimpressed, stating outright that putting off her education for a boy was a stupid move.

Tommy kept his mouth shut about this, despite Thea’s requests for him to weigh in on her side. He could see the reasons behind her reasons - it wasn’t just Roy she was staying for, it was Ollie. 

With Moira in jail, the Queen family was thin on her ground right now, and Oliver’s recent distance hadn't helped. Thea wasn't staying because of one boy, but because of two. 

But he didn’t say that. Because no matter how true it was, neither Queen sibling wanted to hear it. Both of them were too damn independent and stubborn to hear how much they needed each other. 

Instead of advice he offered her a job at Verdant. Much to Oliver’s annoyance.

“Hey,” Tommy said, “if you want power over hiring decisions, come back to the club. Leave playing CEO to people who know how.”

“I can't,” Oliver replied and Tommy would swear he’s grinding his teeth, “the company needs a Queen.”

“Well, so does the club,” Tommy answered, “we built it on your name, it needs a Queen just as much.”

“She should be in college.”

“She can go next Fall. It’s been a hell of a summer, Oliver. Don't begrudge her wanting one last year at home.” Oliver glared at him but didn't say anything, “And now with Verdant she’ll have something to do.” Tommy added. “It’ll build experience and character.”

“She's not old enough to even go to Verdant.”

“Ah, but she is old enough to work for it. Tricky things liquor laws, but as long as it's my name on the bill, and she's not handing out shots, all should be fine.”

Oliver let it go after that but Tommy could tell he was still stewing on it privately. In Oliver Queen’s head everything was Oliver Queen’s fault. He took all the unnecessary weight on those shoulders of his and then wondered why he was tired.

It wasn't healthy. 

He mentioned this to Felicity.

“Are you kidding?” The blonde replied, eyebrows raised. “You’re surprised he’s doing that? He always does that.”

“Always?”

“Well,” she admitted, “since I’ve known him.”

“Oliver 3.0,” Tommy muttered, intending it to be under his breath but Felicity seized on the idea immediately.

“3.0,” she mused, “that fits. One is pre-island, two is last year, three is now?”

“Something like that...”

“Surely we’re at 3.1 by now,” she said, “now that he’s agreed to pick up the bow again? Another minor versioning change from the major code release?”

“Maybe,” Tommy said, “but he’s not done much with it yet.” Apart from stalk you, he added in his head.

“Give him time,” Felicity replied, “let him sort out this hostile take over of QC first. I know I’d sleep better if I knew I had a job in a month.”

“Maybe,” Tommy repeated, and then, because he could, he asked, “and how is Jason?”

Felicity smiled, a touch of color rising in her cheeks.

“He’s very nice, thank you.”

“Spill it, Smoak,” Tommy grinned, “I want to hear details. Just nothing past third base. These ears are innocent, don't you know?”

Felicity grinned, and launched into an anecdote about the second date - one Tommy had made sure Oliver only heard about after it had happened - and Tommy mentally congratulated himself on choosing someone who matched her quite so well.

Or perhaps he had done too well.

A fool could see that Felicity had feelings for Oliver. And Oliver, for all of his focus on Laurel, turned his eyes all too often upon the blonde who shared his secret. With the exception of Thea, Felicity seemed to be the person most able to make Oliver Queen smile. 

Tommy still wasn’t sure if Laurel was also dating Oliver. It made sense that she would but he refused to ask. If she wanted him to know she would tell him. 

But, damn, he really wanted to know. 

“So you’re on for date three?” He asked.

“I think so,” Felicity replied, then blushed. “But, and it's been a while since I did this so don't laugh, but doesn’t the third date hold...significance?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows.

“Are you seriously asking me if you’re expected to put out because someone picked up the cheque three times?”

“No!” Felicity objected. Then blushed redder. “Okay,” she admitted, “maybe I am. But I paid for dinner last time.”

“Felicity,” Tommy said, stepping in and taking her hand, “there's no third date rule. Sleep with him when you want to sleep with him. If he has a problem with that, well, then he’s not the right guy for you.”

“I know that,” Felicity grumbled, “I'm just not good at this social stuff.”

“You’re overthinking things,” Tommy said.

“It's a curse,” Felicity sighed. “I'm really worried about tomorrow.”

“The date’s tomorrow?”

“No, Oliver’s meeting with Isabel Rochev is tomorrow.”

“Isabel Rochev?”

“The VP of acquisitions from Stellmoor International.”

“Ah,” understanding dawned on Tommy. “The company trying to buy out QC.”

“Yup,” Felicity said and bit her lip, “I really should buy bagels.”

“Felicity,” Tommy said, eyeing her. “Why should you buy bagels?”

“Meetings go better with refreshments. I read an article.”

“I doubt that bagels will really convince this company to leave QC be,” Tommy pointed out. “But that's not my point. My point is that you’re in IT. You’re not Oliver’s PA. Why do you care if there are bagels?”

“Someone has to,” Felicity said, but before he could question her on just how much of her life she was letting Oliver subsume her phone rang and she was turning back to the basement monitors to speak to the man himself. 

Tommy watched her talk Oliver through planting a bug in some poor unfortunate’s office and wondered if throwing Jason at her had been exactly the right choice.

Providing Felicity with romantic distraction had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it ironically seemed to be pushing her even further into Oliver’s world, this time as unofficial PA as well as tech support, conscience and Girl Friday. 

Felicity needed something in her life that was nothing to do with Oliver Queen, and Jason just wasn't going to cut it.

It was time for Tommy to up his game.


	8. The other vigilantes

“He did what?!?”

Tommy didn't like to think that his voice rose unnecessarily high without suitable provocation, but the revelation that Oliver had swung himself and Felicity out of an office window holding on to only a thin chain was enough to push him into octaves only dogs could hear.

“He saved us,” Felicity said evenly, but Tommy knew her well enough by now to know that she was as rattled by events as he was.

“Who looks at a situation and thinks that swinging out a window on the 19th floor is a good solution?”

“Oliver, apparently,” Felicity replied. She was sitting very primly on a bar stool at the club. It was well after six but there were still a few hours before Verdant opened and they were still the only two people there. Her body language was perfectly poised, but Tommy could see just how tightly her hands were gripping each other where they lay in her lap. She might look calm but her knuckles were white with tension.

“Felicity -” he started, but she cut him off.

“He saved us,” she insisted, “why does it matter how?”

“If the chain had snapped,” Tommy said, suddenly angry at the danger Oliver constantly placed Felicity in, “if his hand had slipped - 19 floors is a long way down, Felicity.”

“I know that.”

“And you don’t care?”

“No!” She snapped, then took a second to visibly calm herself, slowing her breathing and counting under her breath, “I trust him. I’ve always trusted him. I'm not going to stop trusting him now.”

“Maybe you should,” Tommy said softly, “people die around him, and not just from his arrows.”

“He hasn't killed anyone since the quake,” Felicity defended Oliver.

“He hasn't done anything since the quake,” Tommy reminded her. “He can't be a hero if he’s also a murderer.”

Felicity flinched but after a moment she nodded. The same thought had evidently occurred to her.

“He’s not a murderer,” she said, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in her defence.

“Just a killer,” he said.

“The city needs him,” she said.

“I don't disagree,” Tommy replied, “but maybe there’s a better way. Not every criminal deserves an arrow through the heart. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind and all that.”

“Quoting the Torah at me doesn’t help your case.”

“The Torah?” He smiled, “I was quoting my sixth grade teacher. Or possibly Gandhi. They looked a lot alike.”

Felicity cracked a smile at that.

“The first part of the quote is from the Torah,” she said, then waved her hand absently, “it doesn't matter.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said and put out two wine glasses on the bar between them. 

“I have work to do,” she objected but he could tell it was half-hearted.

“Anyone who took a trip through a skyscraper window deserves at least one drink,” Tommy explained, lifting a bottle of red wine from the cabinet that he knew she was particularly partial to.

“One drink,” Felicity insisted.

“Just one,” he agreed, then he filled her glass almost to the brim.

Felicity laughed, a delighted, light tone that lifted his spirits to hear.

“What?” He said, mock-confused, “you didn't say ’when’?”

* * *

Tommy was on the floor of Verdant when he experienced his second vigilante party crashing in a week. He felt a distinct John McClane in Die hard 2 moment as shots rang out.

How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?

And then, just as it had happened the first time with Laurel, there was someone between him and the attackers.

The short wiry kid, Thea’s boyfriend.

Roy.

While he didn’t have Oliver’s height or breadth, Tommy had to admit the kid had some skills. Spinning attacks, ducking under punches - he was almost balletic, while Oliver in motion was all straight lines and heavy punches.

And then there was a gun to Thea’s head and Roy was promising violence with his angry eyes and clenched fists and Tommy realised this whole thing had taken under a minute and he was still holding the bottle of champagne from which he had been pouring complimentary glasses for VIP guests.

And that no one was looking at him.

He didn't make a conscious decision to get involved, but this was _Thea_ and he’d never needed a conscious decision to get between her and danger.

He swung the bottle hard, smashing the heavy glass into the back of the skull of the nearest gunman.

The man yelled and went down hard and every other weapon in the room shifted aim from Roy to Tommy and the kid saw his chance and attacked again.

There was already one man groaning on the floor. Tommy’s bottle took down a second and Roy’s fists a third, which just left one man with one gun pointed at the head of the closest thing he had to a baby sister.

Thea was struggling, and the thug’s eyes behind the balaclava were wide, but he still had a gun to her head.

And then, suddenly, he also had a arrow through his throat.

Tommy was watching the man’s eyes as it happened. He saw the fear, the pain, the panic. He saw Thea’s gasp as the bloody point of the arrow jutted through the masked man’s neck so close to her own head.

She twisted out of his arms and he fell and Roy scooped her up, pulling her back.

And then it was just Tommy and a dying man.

And he couldn’t help it.

Tommy stepped forward and crouched down, wrapping his hand around the man’s shoulder. Thea’s assailant lay on his side, blood flowing freely from the hole in his throat, his breath reduced to wet gasps. There was nothing Tommy could do.

There was nothing anyone could do.

Another life snuffed out. Another man dying in pain.

Tommy met the man’s eyes and saw just how scared and alone he was feeling. He squeezed his shoulder.

“It's okay,” Tommy said, thinking of how he’d felt, pinned under concrete, what he would have wanted to hear at the end. “The pain will stop soon, and whoever it was you lost, they’ll be waiting for you.”

He saw recognition, maybe even relief flash in the man’s eyes, and then, suddenly, his chest was still and the light of life in his pupils was gone and Tommy Merlyn was comforting a dead man.

He took his cue from the movies and reached out to gently brush his fingertips over the man’s eyes, closing his eyelids.

Then he got up and went to see if Thea was okay.

* * *

Tommy waited until the police were gone. He waited until Roy bodily carried an exhausted Thea out to her car and the rest of the staff and patrons had gone home.

He waited until the club was empty, and then he walked back through the corridors until he came to the code-locked door behind which he had told Thea lay high voltage danger and that she was never to open.

His code still worked. He was always a little surprised that he was allowed access into this inner sanctum - he didn't take it for granted, but he kinda suspected, given what he was about to say to his erstwhile best friend, that this might be the last time this particular code would allow him access.

Oliver was still in his leathers.

Tommy looked around but there was no sight of Felicity or Diggle. It was just the two of them.

“I wondered if you would come,” Oliver said and Tommy started. For all that he'd come here to speak to the man, he hadn't really expected Oliver to talk first. It didn't fit with the latest versions.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Tommy offered.

And then there was silence. The old Oliver, version 2.0, would have laughed. So would 1.0, but, instead, this new version stood silently.

Tommy resisted the urge to fill the silence with another line. Sometimes you needed to let people talk.

Instead he looked around. Took in the lights, the tables, the screens. No matter how many times he saw Felicity’s handiwork, her dedication to Oliver’s cause, it always amazed him.

How could one woman trust so much?

“He was the first,” Oliver said, startling Tommy out of his consideration of a display of green arrows.

“The first?”

“The first man I’ve killed since the quake.”

“Ah,” Tommy said, “I see.” But he didn't.

“No,” Oliver said. His voice was gruff, not as low and threatening as when the hood was up but still not standard Oliver.

“No?”

“You don’t see. I've killed -” and then Oliver broke off, his voice odd.

Tommy turned to look and saw his best friend beneath the make up, beneath the leather armour, bow and arrow. There was the boy he played games with and set pranks with and planned daring deeds in the Queen mansion’s gardens. He might be all grown up and hiding under make-up and a hood but suddenly Tommy could see Oliver in the outfit, in a way he hadn’t really accepted since he first discovered the truth.

“I'm a killer,” Oliver said, holding his gaze, “but I’m not a murderer. And I always used to be... proud of that.” He paused for a second and Tommy wondered if he still chewed at his lip when he was uncertain or if that habit had been burnt away by the island like so many others. “But you were right - it's the same thing.”

“It is,” Tommy agree softly, “so long as someone ends up dead all the rest is semantics.”

Oliver looked away but Tommy could see the agreement in his face.

“You think I can be better,” Oliver said from between gritted teeth. “She thinks I can be better.”

“Laurel?” Tommy asked, because he had to ask.

“No,” Oliver said, “Felicity.”

And there it was. Tommy tried hard to clamp down on any feelings of victory he might have.

“You can be better than that,” Tommy offered, “you _are_ better than that.”

“I don't know how,” Oliver said, very much not meeting his gaze.

“Yes, you do,” Tommy disagreed. “You have aim like no one I've ever seen, you’re telling me you can't hit whatever you want?”

“I hit what I aim at.”

“Then aim somewhere non-fatal,” Tommy said simply. “It won't always work, but if your intention is to capture, not kill, you’ll still hit your mark most of the time.”

“I hit what I aim at,” Oliver repeated.

“Then aim at being the guy who doesn’t kill people,” Tommy said as he turned to leave. “That’s the guy I’d like to see running around saving Starling City. The guy who shoots people in the shoulder, not the heart.”

And then, because he knew Oliver and he knew how the conversation would go in circles when all the man needed was some time to digest things, he walked away, across the room, up the stairs.

His last glimpse of Oliver Queen was the man standing looking at an arrow tip as if it contained all the secrets of the universe.

But for all Tommy knew, it might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this bring us fully into line with season 2, so this is now a fully fledged AU not just a what if.


	9. The secretary

“I quit!” Felicity yelled loud enough that Tommy jumped.

“Here?” He said as he turned, arms wide to indicate the empty club around them. “I don't think you can quit somewhere you don't work.”

“No,” Felicity said, visibly upset and apparently not in the mood to play word games, “I'm not quitting here, or my job in IT which I love, or my night job, even if by all accounts I really should because, hey, felonies!”

“Then what are you quitting? Smoking? Get it? Smoak-ing?” Tommy grinned, secure in the fact that was a solid pun. 

“I'm quitting my _new_ job,” Felicity said with emphasis, “my _brand new_ job as Oliver Queen’s _Executive Assistant_.”

Tommy blinked.

“You’re what now?”

“His secretary!” Felicity snarled.

Tommy looked at her; hair the wildest he’d ever seen it, cheeks red with anger, fists clenched.

And he couldn't help it.

He laughed.

“This is not funny, Merlyn,” Felicity snapped.

“No,” he agreed, “it's not. But it's incredibly Oliver.”

“It's still not funny,” Felicity said, but she sounded slightly less angry than before.

“And I,” Tommy said, getting himself under control and adopting a suitably solemn expression, “am no longer laughing.”

Felicity glared at him.

“Seriously,” he said, putting his hand on his heart, “I'm here with you. Oliver is a dick. You are a phenomenal IT genius with too many strings to your bow to be anyone's assistant, executive or otherwise.”

“Exactly,” Felicity said, nodding.

“Oliver is being insensitive.”

“Very,” she agreed.

“Obnoxious even.”

“Definitely.”

“But,” Tommy said, raising a finger to forestall her immediate glare that at the fact he was no longer agreeing with her, “he’s not entirely wrong here.”

“It’s amazing to me,” Felicity said in a deceptively neutral tone, “how little you value your credit rating.”

“I value my credit rating almost as much as I value my beautiful IT expert friends,” Tommy said, “because without my dear internet queen my life would be dull, uninteresting and would involve far fewer opportunities to eat lunch in that square outside the QC building.”

Felicity narrowed her eyes but she wasn't reaching for her phone to ensure he would never be able to board a commercial jet without a cavity search so Tommy felt safe calling that one a win.

“Make your point,” she said, warily.

Tommy reminded himself that Felicity had little reason to trust him and even less reason to think of Oliver’s actions as anything other than incredibly selfish.

Which admittedly, they were.

“The thing you have to remember about Oliver,” he said, trying to speak slowly so he would have time to get the rest of the sentence straight in his head, “is that he doesn’t do subtlety.”

“No,” Felicity said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Mister I-strap-on-a-bow-because-I-can't-think-of-another-way-to-save-the-city lacks subtlety? Mister I-can-make-up-any-BS-excuse-and-women-will-buy-it-because-I'm-pretty doesn't understand shades of gray?”

“Sarcasm does not become you,” Tommy said, “your radiance is dimming before my very eyes.”

“Get to the point, Merlyn,” Felicity said, rolling her eyes, “I don't need the soft sell here.”

“He needs you,” Tommy said, opting for bluntness, “and he knows he needs you and he doesn't want to admit he needs you and so, ta-da!, secretary!”

Felicity glared at him anew and Tommy wondered if the jazz hands might have been a mistake.

“Seriously Felicity, it's how he thinks. Diggle already has a place in his public life. He wants you to have the same. Something no one will suspect.”

“And on the surface,” Felicity countered, “that’s a solid A plan. But I'm not a secretary. Everyone knows I'm not a secretary. There have already been rumours about why I'm spending so much time on the executive floor. This won't help.”

“It might help a little,” Tommy said.

“No,” Felicity replied, but now she sounded sad instead of angry, “it just adds fuel. Before I might have been a girl with a strangely familiar relationship with the boss. Now I'm the girl being publicly promoted because of that strangely familiar relationship with the boss. No one thinks I'm getting this on my merits.”

Tommy blinked.

“You mean they think you got this on your-”

“Strangely familiar relationship with the boss,” Felicity interrupted, “yes.”

“See,” Tommy said, “that wasn't what I was about to say.”

“I know,” Felicity sighed, “but it's depressing enough having strangers in the bathroom discuss how good I must be at giving head. I didn't particularly want to hear it from you.”

“Felicity,” Tommy said, reaching out to pat her shoulder, “I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, “or rather, it’s not fine. And not to be all focused on the wrong thing here but by the way I am awesome at giving head and various other nighttime activities that all have nothing to do with the reason why I suddenly have this job. Not that anyone cares.”

Tommy blinked and tried not to let his mind go there. 

He failed.

He couldn't deny that it was at the very least an aesthetically appealing thought.

He came back to himself when Felicity punched him in the shoulder. He suspected it was supposed to be jovial, but it wasn't a soft hit.

“Ow!”

“Tommy,” she said in a warning tone.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, holding his hands up in acknowledgement. “But you said it, not me, and in my defense I am male and you should know better by now.”

“I will punch you again,” she said, raising her fists.

“And I will apologise again,” Tommy said, capturing her hands in his, “deeply, wholeheartedly and without reservation. I'm sorry.”

“Thank you,” Felicity said and straightened her dress.

“So,” Tommy said, when the threat of violence seemed to have passed them by, “what did Oliver say when you told him this?”

Felicity closed her eyes and Tommy just knew he wasn't the only person she had wanted to punch today. 

“He said he didn't want to have to travel down 18 floors to discuss how we spend our nights,” Felicity sighed.

Tommy winced. By now he was familiar with Felicity’s speech patterns and he knew before she said it what her response had been.

“And I said, ’I love spending the night with you’,” she groaned. “Why do I always do that? It completely undermines my point that everyone thinks I'm sleeping with him and I'm not!”

Not yet, Tommy thought, but he made the right comforting and cooing noises and with an arm around her shoulders her guided her onto a bar stool.

“Did you tell him about the rumours?”

Felicity looked shifty.

“He doesn't need to know about that,” she said. 

“I think he does,” Tommy pointed out, “especially if you want him to understand why you’re not happy about the job.”

“I have plenty of reasons not to be happy about the job,” Felicity said defiantly, “I went to MIT. I am an IT girl, not a coffee maker. I have no interest in scheduling his meetings and answering his phone.”

“It's not about that,” Tommy said, “that would just be your day job.”

“Which is all anyone would see!”

“I know,” Tommy said. He looked across the bar and considered if it was worth retrieving a bottle of wine before he asked the next question.

But Felicity spoke before he had a chance to make a move.

“You know what the worst part is though?”

I think I do, Tommy thought, but he let her say it.

“It doesn’t matter what everyone thinks,” Felicity said, “I’m going to do it anyway. Because he asked me too.”

“We all do stupid things because Oliver asks us to,” Tommy said. “I have several years of tabloid news clippings to support that.”

Felicity smiled but it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Why do we do that, Tommy? Why do we let Oliver Queen dictate our lives?”

Tommy didn't answer, just rubbed Felicity’s back.

“Even if you do take this job,” he said finally, “don't do it straight away. Make him sweat. Make him worry. Make him see how completely and utterly screwed he would be without you.”

“I think I can do that,” Felicity said, straightening her back and lifting her chin. “He deserves a little suffering.”

“That he does,” Tommy agreed, “and you know what you deserve?”

“If you say red wine,” Felicity smiled, “I will love you forever.”

“What about if I say _really good_ red wine?”

“Then you’d better call a rabbi,” she grinned, “because that's the kind of thing my grandmother would call marriage material.”

“I would look good in the wedding photos,” Tommy joked as he leaned over the bar to snag a bottle from the far side.

“But it would never work,” Felicity said, mock-sad, “you're not Jewish and my grandmother, she'd be so disappointed.”

“Are you seriously telling me,” Tommy said, “I couldn't win her over with my good looks and charming personality?”

“It'd be a hard sell,” Felicity replied, “but providing good wine in times of need - that's a good first step.”

“Well then,” Tommy said, uncorking the bottle and pouring two glasses, “here’s to our eventual nuptials and the many children that will result!”

“And that Oliver Queen is an idiot,” Felicity said, toasting his glass with her own.

“I’ll always drink to that,” Tommy said and did so.

It took a second glass of wine before Felicity was laughing and joking without a hitch in her voice. And so of course that was the moment when Oliver and Diggle arrived.

Oliver didn't say anything, but apparently Felicity didn't need him to. She scowled over the top of her wine glass and turned her back on him.

“Felicity,” Oliver said and Tommy noted,not for the first time, just how many layers of meaning his friend had managed to work into one word. It wasn’t an apology but it was plaintive. A plea for... something.

Something Felicity was apparently fully able to ignore.

“John,” she said, “please could you tell Oliver I'm not speaking to him.”

“Really, guys,” Diggle said, “we’re doing this now? How old are you two?”

“Old enough to drink,” Felicity said and toasted him with her wine glass.

Oliver was standing very still. It fit, Tommy realised, that now he knew about his friend’s extracurricular activities he was much more able to read the potential for violence in his stance. 

“Hey now,” he said, pushing off from the bar, “we’re all friends here.”

“Some of us are,” Felicity sniffed.

“Felicity,” Diggle said.

“Diggle,” she replied in exactly the same tone.

“Oliver,” Tommy appealed.

“Tommy,” Oliver replied, neutrally.

Felicity sipped at her wine and Tommy threw up his hands.

“This is getting us nowhere,” he said pointedly.

“Felicity,” Oliver said, and for half a second Tommy actually thought he might be about to apologise. “Have you found out when the next FEMA delivery is?”

“Search programs are running,” Felicity said, “when they’re done they’ll send the info to my phone. Don't you have a benefit to attend?”

Oliver said nothing.

Diggle looked at his watch.

“You are going to be late, Oliver,” he said.

Oliver’s mouth moved in a way that suggested that if he was a less restrained person he would have many angry things to say.

“Oliver Queen has a reputation for being late,” he said.

Diggle’s mouth twisted but he didn't say anything.

“Go Oliver,” Felicity said, “I’ll call you if I find anything.”

“Please do,” Oliver said.

“Always,” Felicity said.

Tommy watched them interact so professionally and wanted to shake them both. Looking past Oliver he could see an expression on Diggle's face that suggested he was having similar thoughts.

Oliver turned and walked away without another word. Diggle fixed Tommy with a meaningful look before following.

Tommy briefly entertained a fantasy about locking both Oliver and Felicity in a small room with a bed until this whole damn thing was resolved, but the thought of what John Diggle might do to him as a result stopped the thought dead.

He looked at Felicity.

“Do you really have that search running?” He asked.

“Of course,” she said, her brow furrowing, “I might be pissed at him but there’s no way I wouldn't run it. Those thieves need to be stopped.”

“Right,” Tommy said and though once again of the time he wasn't keeping any secrets other than his own. That had been a nice time. A much less complicated time.

“Come on,” he said, “if your phone is really set up to tell you when the search is done, you have no excuse not to join me in another drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update this, I promise I'll bring into line with the rest of of Arrow season 2. That being said, comments help chivvy me along in this regard, do please do let me know what you think


	10. Take out

Laurel was working late at the DA's office almost ever night. 

Tommy would swear history was repeating itself but this time he wasn't sure whether he had the right to drop by with take out and provide her with some well earned distraction from whatever case it was keeping her there. 

“I mean,” he said, over street food tacos on what he had come to think of as their bench, “what if she sees it as an invasion of privacy? A step too far?”

“What if,” Felicity said, despite the fact she had her mouth full of pulled pork, “she smiles and says thank you and you both get to sit down and enjoy chow mein?” She swallowed the food, “I love these tacos, they’re so good.”

“Glad you like.”

“Thanks. But seriously what have you got to lose? If you get there and she's too busy, tells you she doesn't have time, you leave the food and apologise for disturbing her. If she’s happy to see you, impromptu date. Where's the downside?”

“What if she thinks I'm going too far too fast?”

“What if she thinks, Wow, I’ve missed this, and kisses you?” Felicity countered.

Tommy paused.

“That would be nice,” he admitted. 

“Very nice I’m sure,” Felicity said and stole the last taco from the take out container while he was distracted with thoughts of Laurel and her very kissable lips.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused, “that taco was mine.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” she grinned.

* * *

Tommy debated between Chinese and Vietnamese for hours and in the end decided to go with Indian. He remembered many evenings of sag aloo and naan bread in the apartment that used to be theirs. He hadn't touched curry since he left there so he felt it was appropriate for this new beginning.

Security at the DA’s office was tighter than CNRI, and so despite all his intentions of surprising Laurel at her desk, he ended up standing awkwardly in reception, shifting from foot to foot and hoping that the food wouldn't get too cold before Laurel arrived.

“Tommy?”

He turned to see her, elegant as ever but missing the suit jacket he knew matched that skirt. She smiled and looked wonderful, but he could see the tiredness in her posture. 

“I thought,” he said, hearing the way his voice sounded tentative and hating it, “I thought you might need dinner?”

“It’s after 10," Laurel said, the slightest trace of amusement on her face.

“Supper then,” he said, he lifted the bag, “I have bindi barjee and chicken masala.”

“I haven't had a good chicken masala in...months,” Laurel said, and he could see she was remembering the same night he was, one of the last happy memories he had from their previous life together.

“You've been denying yourself,” he said, “that won't do.”

“I don't know, Tommy,” Laurel said, twisting her hands together, “I've got a lot of work.”

“Then you’ll need a lot of energy to do it,” he replied. “Look Laurel, even if you don't want to eat with me, take the food, it’ll do you good.”

Laurel smiled.

“I never said I didn't want to eat with you,” she said, “come on.”

* * *

“So this is what’s been keeping you late in the office,” Tommy said, trying to maintain a calm exterior and he looks over the boards covered with information about Oliver’s secret identity. “You want to catch the Hood.”

“502 people died in the earthquake, Tommy,” Laurel said as she cleared space on the conference room table and started lifting take out containers out of the bag. “Ooh you got sag aloo, I love sag aloo.”

“I know,” Tommy replied, absently, “and I know how many people died. I was almost number 503.” His hand lifted to rub over his collarbone. It still ached when it rained. 

“Tommy,” Laurel said, looking stricken, “I didn't think, are you-”

“I'm fine,” he cut her off. Sympathy just made him feel oddly guilty. “You know that it was my father who killed 502 people, right? Not the Hood?”

“Tommy-”

“In fact I think I recall the Hood saving quite a few people in the earthquake.”

“He killed more before that,” Laurel said evenly, “and he’s killed since.”

“He does more good than harm.”

Laurel blinked at him.

“You've changed your tune.”

“I saw how close we came to losing Thea last week,” Tommy said, “and I know who it was who got me out from under that concrete pillar. Maybe we should cut the guy some slack.”

“He broke the law, Tommy,” Laurel said, “he’s breaking the law. Maybe even now.”

“You helped him break the law a few times,” Tommy pointed out, “I remember us being on opposite sides of this argument before too.”

“The more things change,” Laurel said and smiled weakly. She looked down at the spread of take away cartons. “You want some sag?”

“Actually,” Tommy said, making a show of glancing at his watch, “I think I need to go, big day tomorrow.

“Yeah?” Laurel said, “what’ve you got on?”

“Club things,” Tommy replied.

Laurel glanced across at the clock on the wall. He saw her take in the time. 10:45

“Shouldn't you be there now?”

“I got a good deputy in Thea,” Tommy said, “she’s really blossomed. But I should get over there, make sure she hasn't gone on all megalomaniacal on me, seized power in a bloody coup. You know how kids can be.”

“That would be bad,” Laurel said solemnly, “but are you sure you can't stay?”

“Sorry,” he said and genuinely meaning it. “Gotta go.”

“I'll walk you to the elevator,” Laurel said and gestured for him to precede her out of the room.

“Hope you like the food,” he said, falling back on stilted small talk. It had all been going so well and then Oliver and his damn secret had got in the way again.

History repeating itself indeed.

“I'm sure I'm will,” Laurel said as she pressed the elevator button.

The treacherous thing arrived too fast. Tommy didn't have time to decide on a goodbye.

Luckily Laurel did it instead.

“I’ll see you soon, Tommy,” she said, stepping in close and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Let’s have dinner this weekend.”

“I'd like that,” he managed, and then elevator doors were closed and the only thing he was looking at was his own reaction and he wondered just how he was going to figure this one out.

Maybe Felicity would have some advice. 


	11. Clean hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy has to figure out what to do about Laurel and Councilman Blood enters the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. My IRL life has been insane. Hope you all like this.

“Laurel’s going after the Hood,” Tommy said the second he arrived in the club basement. 

Felicity blinked.

“Why?” She said, “that makes like, no sense. Wasn’t she was Lois Lane-ing all over him like six months ago?”

Tommy pulled a face.

“Really? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What else should we call the whole _I have eyes for your super hero self but not for your secret identity_ thing?”

“I can assure you,” Tommy said, trying hard to think of pink elephants and being crushed under CNRI to prevent the painful scene he witnessed through that window replaying in his head yet again, “it wasn’t just the Hood Laurel was making eyes at six months ago.”

“Oh.” Felicity winced. “Sorry.”

“No harm done,” Tommy said, “but there will be if Laurel is intent on unhooding Oliver. She’s tenacious. Won’t give up easily.”

“Neither does Oliver.”

“And so you begin to see why the rest of us viewed their on-again-off-again relationship a bit like a full contact sport?”

“Sure that isn’t the jealousy talking there, sparky?”

“I assure you Smoak, it’s just years of painful memories of being caught in the goddamn middle, nothing more.”

“Hmmm, well, okay. What do we do about Oliver?”

“What do we do about Laurel, you mean?"

“Well, yes.”

“…I’m waiting for your brilliant idea, Smoak.”

“Why do I have to have the brilliant idea? She’s your almost-girlfriend.”

“Note the almost in that sentence,” Tommy said, “and I never had that much influence over her even when there wasn’t an almost. Laurel goes her own way, it’s one of the things I loved about her.”

“Past tense?”

“Loved, loves, will love again. If she’ll have me. And the odds of that will be low if she finds out I’m keeping secrets from her.”

Felicity frowned.

“Well that won’t do,” she said. “We need a distraction.”

“A distraction?”

“Yes, a distraction. Laurel is focussed on the Hood because she thinks he’s a killer, right?”

“Right, and technically, she’s not wrong there.”

“I’m not having this fight again, Thomas.”

“Wow, full name scolding, I almost feel scared.”

“Don’t distract me,” she said, “we need to distract Laurel.”

“And tell me oh wise one, what will distract Laurel?”

Felicity chewed on her lip.

“Do you think,” she said slowly, “that Laurel might be satisfied with any costumed hero? Because there are rumours about a woman in black beating the hell out of would be muggers in the Glades.”

“Beating up isn’t killing,” Tommy said. “And I’m not a huge fan of throwing random people to the wolves.”

“I love how you call your almost-girlfriend the wolves.”

“Ours is a fiery passion,” Tommy said. “What’s the deal with the chick in black?”

“Chick?”

“Independent woman fully in charge of her own destiny,” he corrected.

“Good boy. And I don’t know. But I could find out more.”

“Good girl,” he said and grinned. “I knew I could count on you.”

* * *

Tommy debated whether or not to share Laurel’s new obsession with Oliver, but it turned out to be already too late.

“So Laurel lured the Hood into an ambush last night," Oliver said to him the next day when he arrived at Verdant.

“Damn,” Tommy said, “sorry Ollie, I saw her wall of crazy and thought she might make a play but didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

“Felicity mentioned it,” Oliver said, “after.”

“What happened?” Tommy asked.

“Laurel called me in, told me I was responsible for the deaths in the earthquake and set a SWAT team on me."

“Okay…”

“I only escaped because a woman in black dropped through the skylight and used some sort of sonic device to incapacitate everyone.”

Tommy looked at Oliver. Despite his outlandish words he seemed completely unruffled.

“Our lives are very different,” Tommy said. “I know you know that, but I feel like it needs to be said sometimes.”

“Tommy?” Oliver furrowed his brow.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tommy said, waving a hand dismissively, “woman in black, sonic boom, I’m listening.”

“I don’t like it,” Oliver said, “first those fake Hoods, now this. People are going to get hurt.”

“People are already getting hurt,” Tommy said, “maybe that’s why they’re dressing up.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Am I?”

“I have training,” Oliver said, “I have experience and training.”

And trauma, Tommy added mentally.

“I’m not just some amateur in a mask,” Oliver said, “I’ve earned my right to fight.”

“So?” Tommy said, “I somehow doubt five years in exile is a requirement for vigitamntism. People get hurt, they want to fight back. I’d think you’d understand that.”

“They don’t know what they are doing.”

“Who does Ollie, really?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes.

“Whose side are you on here?”

“I’m on the side of guy who shoots to main,” Tommy said, “I’m on the side of people who want good things for Starling, who are willing to work both inside and outside the law.”

Oliver’s jaw clenched. He looked away.

“Maybe this woman in black is an amateur,” Tommy said, “but what if she could be an ally? There’s only one of you - you can’t be everywhere at once. She could help.”

A muscle worked in Oliver’s jaw. Tommy wondered if he was actually grinding his teeth.

“You haven’t been alone in this for a long time,” Tommy added. “You’ve got Diggle and Felicity and me. Maybe it’s time you let other people help you.”

“I’m going to check on Felicity’s progress,” Oliver said, “maybe she has a name for me.”

“Always good to know the names of your allies,” Tommy agreed.

Oliver nodded and walked away across the club floor.

Then he paused.

“Tommy,” he said, “anyone can put on a mask, but that doesn’t mean they should. What I went through, what happened to me on Lian Yu, it changed me. I can take it now. A lot of people couldn’t. But they won’t know that until it’s too late. And too many people have died already.”

Tommy blinked, surprised at the sheer number of words Oliver had used. Given his verbal reticence since his return, this was practically the equivalent of an hour long speech.

Tommy was still debating how to respond when he heard the basement door close and realised Oliver had already walked away.

* * *

Working nights at Verdant and spending his days worrying about Oliver, teasing Felicity and trying to come up with a plan to distract Laurel left Tommy with a somewhat warped sense of time.

He could swear he had talked to Oliver only yesterday, but suddenly a week had passed and it was only when he looked up to see Oliver standing on a podium with Sebastian Blood on television that he realised they hadn’t spoken in quite a few days.

Blood was talking about saving the city, reclaiming the Glades - all language Tommy had heard campaigning politicians use before - and Oliver, standing off to one side, was looking at the man as if he had all the answers.

Tommy’s long established anti-authoritarian streak kicked in and he felt his blood run cold.

What exactly was Oliver doing with Councilman Blood?

“Is he brainwashed?” He demanded of Felicity the second she picked up her phone. “Is brainwashing an actual thing now? Has Blood brainwashed him?”

“Oh,” she said, “that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well,” Felicity said and he could actually see her squirming in her chair outside of Oliver’s glass walled office, “apparently he wants to embrace a different way.”

“I know that,” he said, aware that she couldn’t talk freely. “But does that really have to mean politics?”

“Is that worse that the alternative?”

“A non-lethal vigilante probably has cleaner hands than any politician,” Tommy said. “You really want to be in bed with guys like him?”

“I don’t want Oliver to be in bed with anyone!” She snapped. He imagined the full body wince that followed. “Three, two, one. You said it that way on purpose didn’t you?”

“I promise I did not,” Tommy replied. 

“Look,” Felicity said, “just because you don’t approve of his… current partner, doesn’t mean that trying a different way is a bad idea.”

“He was already trying a different way,” Tommy said, “I liked that one a lot more.”

“I don’t think he’s giving up on that way just yet,” Felicity said, “he might think he knows what he wants, but…” She takes a breath. “I found out a little more about our woman in black.”

“Oh?”

“She’s been protecting women; interrupting assaults, preventing rapes.”

“Sounds like a very specific MO.”

“Yup,” Felicity said.

Tommy blinks. He knows the sound of that “Yup.” It’s determined and maybe a little bit smug.

“You have a plan,” Tommy realised. 

“I do.”

“Oliver doesn’t know about this, does he?”

“Where we’re going,” Felicity says, “Oliver can’t follow.”


	12. Secret's out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Felicity find a clue...
> 
> Potential TW: discussion of domestic abuse & violence aginst women

“I really shouldn’t even be here,” Tommy said, peering out of the car window. “I mean, I really should not be here. If there’s one thing I learnt from my mom, it was that secret shelters should stay secret.”

“Who are you planning on telling?” Felicity asked. “We’re not going to broadcast the location. We’re just going to check if they know anything.”

“We are not doing anything, Smoak,” Tommy pointed out, “no one in a battered women’s shelter wants a strange man walking through the door. If anyone’s going in there, it’s you.”

Felicity pursed her lips but didn’t say anything.

“And don’t think that means I’m happy about you going in there alone,” Tommy added. “This might not be an underground mob casino, but we do not know what is in there.”

“What is in there,” Felicity said in a sharp tone, “is a group of women who have suffered at the hands of men. And one very specific woman who our blonde friend in leather saved from her drunken asshole of a husband last Tuesday.”

Tommy blinked.

“The shelter system is supposed to be secure…” he said.

Felicity raised an eyebrow at him.

“But of course, nothing is safe from you,” he added.

“I’m glad you recognise my power,” she said.

“You terrify me, Smoak,”

“Glad to hear it,” she nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll keep the engine running,” he quipped, but she’s already gone.

He had time to check all of his social media networks, order some replacement stock for Verdant and get to 2048 twice on his phone before she reappeared.

Despite the fact he’d been trying to pay attention to his surroundings, he jumped when she opened the car door.

Felicity slipped into the passenger seat and sat quietly for a few minutes.

Tommy watched her, recognising the steps of a person pulling their composure back together.

“You okay?”

“He broke her cheekbones,” Felicity said quietly, “Her face looked like… I don’t know what it looked like. Meat. Pulp.”

Very gently Tommy put his hand on her knee and squeezed it.

“The woman in black threw her husband out the kitchen window. But it was only on the second floor. He’ll live.”

“So will she,” Tommy said softly, “because she won’t be anywhere near him.”

“No, she won’t,” Felicity said, “no, she won’t.” She draws herself up her seat. “She doesn’t know who the woman in black is. But she does know who it was who called the ambulance for her. Girl called Sin. Short for Sindy. She’s known around the Glades.”

“So it’s a clue?” He asks.

“It’s a clue,” Felicity agreed. She took a deep breath. “It was worth it.”

She buckled her seatbelt.

Their ride back across town was silent.

* * *

Tommy wandered up to the office at Verdant after Felicity disappeared into the basement. He had some thoughts about potential new suppliers - there was a new micro-brewary he’d been hearing good things about in Central City that was looking to expand. Might be worth getting in on the ground floor there.

And then he noticed the kid, Thea’s boyfriend, walking out the back door of the club with a half case of champagne.

Tommy stopped in his tracks.

Roy, that was his name.

Tommy knew well enough that Roy had trouble in his past. And he certainly was no shrinking violet, the way he’d leapt to Thea’s defence during the Hoods’ attacks three weeks before. But he seemed sincere in his relationship with Thea.

And yet here he was, stealing champagne.

There had to be a reason.

Tommy debated yelling, but instead found himself following the young man out of the club.

Out of the club and down the street.

For someone seemingly so streetwise, Roy certainly didn’t make it difficult to follow him.

Within three blocks - three blocks that reminded Tommy why he choose to drive to work most days and not walk - Roy was standing by the back of an open van and was haggling with someone inside.

Tommy sidled close enough to here.

“A blonde? Likes black leather?”

“Sounds like your type,” a gruff voice said.

“And beats the crap out of guys with a bo staff,” Roy said.

“Still sounds like your type.”

Roy’s looking for the woman in black?

Tommy listened long enough to hear Roy get the same clue Felicity had found at the battered women’s shelter.

Sin. Also known as Sindy.

It would have been worth the $250 if they hadn’t already found it out. But why was Roy investigating anyway?

What was his connection to all this?

* * *

“Roy has like a giant man-crush on the Hood,” Thea said as she wiped down the bar.

“Huh,” Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Would not have called that one. Are you two still…” he paused, trying to find suitable euphemism for sex that wouldn’t give him the trauma of having to consider Thea as a grown woman capable of having it.

“Yes,” Thea said, saving him from his own mental spiral, “we are still together. But that won’t be true for long if he keeps going out at night.”

“You think he’s stepping out?” Tommy asked.

“What are we?” Thea said, “in the eighties? Stepping out. Pfft.”

“You say that as if I lived through the eighties,” Tommy retorted. “I may have been born in the decade taste forgot, but I didn’t even start school in the eighties, let alone dating.”

“You’re telling me a playa like you couldn’t get play in pre-school?” Thea teased.

“Okay,” Tommy said, “one, ew! And two, stop distracting me with witty banter. Is Roy cheating on you?”

Thea sighed.

“Only if being a wannabe vigilante is cheating,” she said, “the Hood saved him last year. He thinks he needs to fill the hole the Hood left.”

“But the Hood is back now,” Tommy pointed out.

“He can’t be everywhere at once,” Thea says, “or at least that’s Roy’s argument.” She sighed. “Don’t mistake me, I’m not happy about it, but if threatening his sex life hasn’t stopped him…”

“I do not need to know about that,” Tommy said, raising his hands in surrender. “Ix-nay on the ex-say.”

Thea swatted at him with a towel, then suddenly looked away.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” she said, not looking up. “I don’t think I can take another loss, not after Dad. And Mom.”

“Hey,” Tommy said, “your Mom’s not gone. She’s just…”

“In prison,” Thea finished for him. “Not much better.”

“Better than dead,” Tommy said, trying not to think about either of his parents.

“Oh, Tommy,” Thea said, reaching out to take his hand. “Look at us, what a pair.”

“Yeah,” he said and tried for a weak smile. “Children of scary earthquake machine people unite!”

Thea smiled, but it was more pity than amusement.

“Yay.”

“Do you want me to talk to Roy,” he asked. “I mean, as someone who’s been saved by the Hood and didn’t feel a need to follow in his footsteps? I might be able to convince him to spend his nights elsewhere. And by elsewhere I mean drinking malteds and holding your hand at the movies and touching nowhere not normally covered by clothing.”

“I already have one big brother,” Thea said.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, reaching out to take her hand, “you always had two.”

“Thanks Tommy,” Thea said with a smile, “but please don’t take it the wrong way when I say I’m not holding out too much hope in terms of your convincing skills.”

“Don’t worry,” Tommy said, knowing it wasn’t just his convincing skills that would be needed here, “everything will be fine.”

* * *

“What do you mean the kid’s working for you!?” Tommy yelled at Oliver.

Behind Oliver, at her desk, Felicity stiffened but didn’t say anything. She didn’t turn but was clearly listening closely. Diggle made no such pretense and stood watching them, arms folded.

“The kid’s working for me,” Oliver repeated.

“Roy, Thea’s boyfriend, my bartender, is working for you! Since when?”

“He was going to get himself killed out there,” Oliver said, “something had to be done.”

“And so you sent him out there with your stamp of approval?” Tommy countered, trying not to show that Oliver’s stoicism was the element that was pissing him off the most about all of this. Did the man care at all?

“He’s my eyes on the street,” Oliver said, “and I made it clear that those eyes are best kept out of fights or they won’t be useful anymore.”

“I can’t believe you’re pulling more people into this!” Tommy snapped.

“This?” Oliver said, and Tommy saw the first hints of anger around his eyes. “This that you argued that I needed to do? I don’t see you having any similar attacks of conscience over me. Or Diggle. Or Felicity.”

“You are all adults,” Tommy said, “Roy is-”

“Also an adult. With as much skin in the game as you have. Maybe even more.”

Tommy bristled.

“I’m here because I want to be,” he said, “I don’t have a deathwish or a redemption arc. I’m here because-”

And then he faltered.

Because really, why was he here?

Tommy took a breath and raised his eyes. 

Behind Oliver, Felicity was twisted in her chair, her eyes full of concern for him.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Tommy said as evenly as he could, “maybe to remind you to aim for the shoulder and avoid all the major arteries. Maybe to remind Felicity that there’s sunshine and she should see more of it, or to give Diggle a punching bag. Or maybe just because you are all my friends, and I don’t think I should let any of you go through what you go through alone.”

Across the room, Diggle’s lips pursed, as if he was repressing a smile. Felicity had no such compunction, her smile was clearly evident.

“If you’re going to pull the kid into this,” Tommy said, “you should pull him in all the way. Show him your cards. See how the dice fall.”

Oliver’s jaw tightened.

“You’re mixing your metaphors,” he said.

“I’m doing what works for me,” Tommy said. “Right now this is what I can do with what I have. With what I know. But at least I have my eyes open.”

“I’ll consider reading Roy in,” Oliver said then turned to Felicity. “Where are we on the woman in black?”

“Tommy and I,” Felicity said with a slight nod in his direction, “found the same clue as Roy. One Sin or Sindy has been seen with her.”

“How many girls called Sindy could there possibly in this city?” Tommy wondered aloud.

“More than you might think,” Felicity said. She seemed primed to continue but then her cellphone rang.

Her brow furrowed as she picked it up.

“Detective Lance?”


	13. The Dollmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Hood faces Barton Mathis... and with Tommy around things don't go quite the same way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of dialogue from the show in this instalment, needless to say, I didn't write that.

“Barton Mathis,” Lance’s voice echoed over Oliver’s comms, “The media calls him the Dollmaker.” 

“I remember this guy,” Tommy said as he and Felicity watched the blip that signified Oliver talking to Lance on a distant rooftop. “Covered women in some kind of plastic. Creepy.”

“‘Cause he suffocates his victims with a flexible polymer that he pours down their throats and then he dresses them up like dolls.”

At her seat in front of him, Felicity shuddered.

“Like I said,” Tommy squeezed her shoulder, trying to offer comfort, “creepy.”

“I put him away but because of the quake he’s out and he’s killing again.”

There was an edge to Lance’s voice that struck Tommy as almost desperate. God knows Detective Lance had never been his biggest fan, but the man hadn’t sounded like this for…

“These are from six years ago,” Oliver’s distorted voice said over the comms.

Tommy’s hand fumbled on the back of Felicity’s chair and he felt the strength go out of his legs. He stepped to the side and slumped into a empty desk chair.

Six years ago. Lance.

“It’s my personal file,” Lance said and oh Tommy was back there now, in the year following the loss of Oliver and Sara, Laurel barely speaking to him by day and calling him almost every night in tears at the loss. And then she was calling him telling him about her parents - the fights, the separation, her father throwing himself into one case, one specific case.

“Maybe it’s not just the file that’s personal,” Oliver said. Oh, you have no idea, Tommy thought.

“Get him back here,” Tommy said to Felicity, “This one’s going to be bad.”

“Mathis killed eight girls before I got him last time,” Lance said, “I don’t want any more on my conscience.”

“Why?” Felicity said.

“This is the case,” Tommy said, “this is the case that broke him.”

“Oliver?”

“Lance.” Tommy said thinking of Laurel in tears and Lance, drunk and angry. “This is the case that broke Lance.”

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

“Why don’t you let the police do their job?” Oliver said over the radio in what Tommy thought was an horrendous piece of hypocrisy.

“I could say the same thing to you,” Lance pointed out. Tommy nodded, in agreement. “They’re spread so thin they can’t even risk letting the public know that Mathis is out. You said you’re trying another way, maybe I am too.”

“Get him back here,” Tommy said, and even he was surprised at the anger in his tone.

Felicity glanced at him, concerned, but complied.

“Oliver, come home.” She said into the microphone.

“Acknowledged,” Oliver said.

Tommy slumped in his seat and wondered exactly how badly this was going to go.

Laurel, trying to track down the Hood and almost capturing him. Oliver saved by an unknown vigilante and the only lead they had on her identity was some street kid named Sindy. And the Dollmaker, out from prison, killing again and poised to send Detective Lance back to his darkest days.

Oh and Thea’s boyfriend trying out for role as Hood junior.

“This is going to get really bad,” he said.

“You said that before.”

Tommy looked up to see Felicity standing in front of him. “What happened six years ago?”

“You weren’t here?”

“I was at MIT,” she said, “a world away. What happened?”

“We don’t get many serial killers in Starling,” Tommy said, “my father aside.”

“Your father is a psycho not a serial,” Felicity said, “but that’s beside the point.”

“The whole city was scared,” Tommy said, “there was nothing official, no curfew or anything, but after the third victim, women just didn’t go out after dark”

“Smart of them.”

“He still killed five more,” Tommy said, “not everyone was that smart, or that lucky.”

“What can you find on this?” Tommy jumped at Diggle’s voice. 

Felicity nodded and sat back down, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

Photos and articles, all from online news sources started to appear on the screens.

“Eight victims,” Felicity said, “no obvious connection between them. All killed by polymer and left to be discovered.”

“Does that mean their could be more?” Tommy said, feeling sick, “Ones that weren’t found.”

“Possibly,” Diggle said, “but it’s not likely. Serials like their work to be displayed. They don’t get the credit if no one knows about it.”

Tommy shuddered.

“What’s Oliver’s ETA?” Diggle asked.

Felicity checked her screens.

“Nine minutes.”

“Okay,” Diggle said, “I’ll take the first three, Felicity you take the second three, Tommy you have the last two.”

“To do what?”

“Learn as much as you can about them in nine minutes,” Diggle said, “The internet is waiting for you. Get to it.”

*****

“Last time Mathis was active in Starling City,” Diggle said, looking over the photos of the victims, “he racked up one kill every three days.”

“That gives us two to catch him,” Oliver said.

“Took Lance weeks,” Tommy said, “and he’s about the best the SCPD have.”

“He didn’t have us then,” Oliver said. “What connect them? The victims?”

“Young, pretty,” Diggle said, “Lance’s file couldn’t find anything else in common.”

“As if Porcelain dolls weren’t creepy enough,” Felicity said.

“No family, no friends,” Diggle said, “Lone wolves are harder to catch.”

“But they do have the right to an attorney,” Oliver said.

*****

“Mermaiden,” Felicity says, throwing the branding up on screen.

“Retro,” Tommy said, “bit of an art deco vibe going on there.”

“An art deco vibe that gets you the attention of a creepy serial killer,” Felicity replied.

“This is it? Skin cream?” Diggle said, “That’s our lead?”

“It’s something,” Oliver said.

“It’s skin cream,” Tommy echoed Diggle. “The facial treatment that gets you killed.”

“What do we know about the product?”

“It’s made from crushed mother of pearl, super high end, only carried in a handful of boutiques, and it’s marketed for women with extremely delicate complexions.”

“Delicate enough to be a doll,” Tommy said, despondent.

“Quit it,” Oliver snapped at him. “He picks his victims for their skin. The cream is how he finds them.”

“Only four stores in the city carry it,” Felicity said, “and three have surveillance systems, I ran facial recognition through all of them looking for Mathis and came up empty. He must be staking out the stores from the outside.”

“Fine,” Diggle said, “We’ll do the same. Four stores, four of us.”

“That could take days we don’t have,” Oliver replied, “he’s probably out there right now looking for another girl.”

Tommy was looking at Felicity and he saw the exact moment she made her decision.

“So that’s what we give him.” She said. “I’ll go to the stores that carry Mermaiden and buy it in each one.”

“It’s too dangerous.” Diggle said.

“No,” Tommy pushed himself to his feet, “You won’t do this.”

“More dangerous than going undercover in a mob casino,” Felicity said, “Or swinging over an elevator shaft? It’s my decision, it’s my life.”

“I’ll go with her,” Tommy said, “play the boyfriend.”

“He targets lone women,” Oliver said, “he won’t go for her.”

“We don’t want him to go for her!” Tommy snapped.

“Hey,” Felicity said, stepping in close and putting her hand on his arm, “there’s no point in being bait if you’re not tempting.”

“You are too tempting,” he said, “I don’t want to see you dressed in doll clothes and dead.”

“I never want to see me dressed in doll clothes,” Felicity said with a smile, “and as for dead, Oliver will protect me.”

Tommy felt a pang in his heart at how she could trust so absolutely. Despite everything.

Tommy turned to Oliver, whose face was wearing an absolutely neutral expression.

“If anything happens…” Tommy said.

“Nothing will happen,” Oliver replied, “because we will be there. Felicity will be safe.”

“I have your word on that?”

Oliver looked past Tommy to Felicity, then met his eyes once more.

“Always.”

Tommy felt the familiar pressure of unsaid words and unacknowledged emotions. He wondered if Diggle was feeling it too, but to turn and look at him felt like it would break the spell of whatever this moment was.

“Okay,” Felicity said, clapping her hand together in fake enthusiasm, “who wants to help me pick out my victim outfit? Tommy?”

“I feel insulted,” Tommy said, going for levity, “that you think my taste echoes that of a serial killer.”

“I just need to look tempting,” Felicity said, “you can help me with that, right?”

“Of course,” Tommy says, “I think you’ll look most tempting in pink.”

*******

“That’s that last store,” Felicity said, walking out carrying bags. “You’re going to reimburse me for these right? I keep the receipts.”

“Go to the rendezvous point,” Tommy heard Oliver say over the radio, “stay in public.”

From the shadows of a nearby alley Tommy watched her walk.

“Someone’s coming,” Felicity said.

Tommy strained his eyes, trying to follow her in the dim slight.

“Next time I offer to be bait for a serial killer please turn me down,” she said and Tommy almost smiled.

But then she screamed.

Tommy was running before him even thought about it, before he knew what he was going to do. Felicity was screaming and he was running and that was it.

Tommy turned the corner and kept running.

“They’re inside,” Oliver said over the comms, and Tommy turned, running through the clear plastic hanging from the ceiling. 

He arrived in time to see Mathis take an arrow in the shoulder and Felicity lash out, thrusting him away from her. But she thrust too hard, knocking herself into the side of a metal dumpster.

Tommy was at her side in an instant, cradling her head.

“Are you alight?” Oliver cried as he ran towards them

“She’s fine,” Tommy snapped, “Go, go.”

Oliver went, barely even pausing for breath.

Felicity groaned.

“Hey,” Tommy said softly, “it’s me, you’re safe.”

“Mathis?” Felicity asked.

“Oliver’s chasing him.”

Felicity raised a hand to her head.

“Yeah, you landed pretty hard,” Tommy said, “think that brain of yours can take it?”

Felicity snorted.

“No more being bait for serial killers,” Tommy added, “promise?”

“No more being bait for serial killers,” she agreed. “Once is enough.”

Diggle appeared, gun in hand.

“Felicity?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “go, go, catch him.”

And Diggle was off.

“Let’s get you back to the car,” Tommy said.

*****

The seconds made the crucial difference.

With Oliver and Diggle’s help, Lance had Mathis in handcuffs.

The arriving SCPD cruisers took him into custody - and Lance too, complaining the entire time about how was is obstruction if they had caught the guy?

Felicity and Tommy faded into the background, which is to say Tommy helped her to the car, carrying her only about half the time with one arm across his shoulders just before the entire street turned into SCPD Blue. Diggle and Oliver, who probably faded into the background a lot more literally, radioed their safety as Tommy turned the wheel towards Verdant.

“We caught him?” Felicity asked weakly from the backseat.

“Yes,” Tommy said, not for the first time. “We got him.”

“Good,” she said, and laid her head down.

A few seconds passed.

“I said that already didn’t I?”

“Yup,” Tommy agreed, “but it’s okay, I’m only waking you up every hour for the next 24 to make sure that concussion doesn’t kill you.”

“Okay,” she agreed, “and… we got him, right?”

“Yes, Felicity,” he said, “everything is fine.”

*****

“It’s not supposed to be that easy,” Oliver said.

“Who says that was easy?” Tommy asked.

“The plan worked,” Diggle offered, “the serial killer is in handcuffs.”

“It’s never that easy,” Oliver insisted.

“Sometimes it is, man,” Diggle said. “Sometimes all the pieces come together. With the right team.”

Oliver considered this.

Tommy blinked.

“Hold on,” he said, “Are you saying I’m part of the team?”

“Think you have been,” Diggle said, “For a lot longer than any of us might want to admit.”

“Yay,” Felicity said, still a little looped, “Team Hood FTW!”

“Really?” Tommy eyed her, “Acronyms?”

“I like that one,” she mock-pouted.

“Tommy?” Oliver asked. “How do you feel about this?”

“About being on the team?” Tommy said, “I don’t know. How do you feel about it?”

“I want you safe,” Oliver said, “But I want you all safe.”

Felicity tilted her head to the side, regarding him.

“But it’s your life, your choice,” Oliver said, “and… maybe I could use the help.”

“Well,” Tommy said, “the first step is admitting it.”

Oliver grimaced. Or maybe it was a smile. It was hard to tell these days.

“Welcome to the team,” Oliver said, offering Tommy his hand.

Tommy accepted it. And it felt like something important. A new beginning. Of sorts.a

“Thanks,” he said, “just don’t expect me to take on a secret identity.”

Diggle snorted.

“One of those is more than enough.”


	14. Interlude - the dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an interlude, a moment set in this AU universe but not quite part of the main plot.
> 
> It came out of a tumblr prompt from Abbie. Who should be blamed for the very Flommy route this took...
> 
> Sorry it's so short, I'm still trying to get my writing mojo back...

It was one of those situations where Oliver’s face was known, Roy was too young and Diggle was, well, too straight. 

"I cannot believe that you think I am the best fit to be your fake boyfriend in a sex club," Tommy said as Felicity fussed with his bow tie.

"It is *not*," Felicity said, stressing the word as much as she could, "a sex club. It’s a casino."

"With private rooms where people have sex."

"Yes," she admitted, "but we’re not going in them. We’re sneaking into the office to see if I can use their hard line to get into the Bratva’s entirely secure and not accessible over the Internet system."

"So not only is this a sex club-"

"It’s not a sex club!"

”- it’s also a mafia-owned sex club?!?”

"It’s *not* a sex club!"

Tommy grinned. Felicity’s cheeks were red with annoyance. She looked moments away from running her hands through her hair and ruining what had to be at least $80 worth of expensive hairdressing. 

"Okay," he said, "I will agree that it is *not* a sex club, if you will admit that you only choose me because Oliver would have gone off-mission to kill anyone who so much as looked at you in that dress."

"He wouldn’t-"

"Have you not seen that dress Smoak? How did you managed to get dressed in it without seeing it?"

"I have seen my dress," Felicity said shortly.

"And?"

"It’s a good fit."

"It’s a riot in clothing form," Tommy challenged her. 

"It’s a good colour on me."

"Felicity," Tommy said, leaning in, "I have nothing but the utmost platonic love and respect for you and you know that I would never try and get in the way between the epic thing that is you and Oliver-"

"There is no "me and Oliver"," she objected, just as she always did.

"But in that dress Smoak," Tommy continued as if she had spoken, "in that dress I feel a very strong need to press you into a wall and kiss you until you beg me to take you to bed."

Felicity blinked.

"What?"

"What can I say," Tommy said, adjusting the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket, "it’s a hell of a dress."


End file.
